


His First Real Friend

by Gandalfs_Beard



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25211899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gandalfs_Beard/pseuds/Gandalfs_Beard
Summary: Finally, Harry is off to Hogwarts, happy to get as far away from the Dursleys as possible. The only problem is that he had no idea how to find Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Fortunately, the parents of a bushy haired girl are there to help him find his way...
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 73
Kudos: 288





	1. His First Real Friend

Harry was beginning to panic. In ten minutes, the train to Hogwarts would be leaving and he still had no idea how to find Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Not to mention, he was starting to feel like an idiot, aimlessly pushing around a trolley with an owl perched on top of an old-fashioned wooden trunk; people were starting to stare.

A pack of redheads passed him by as he continued going in the opposite direction, and a shriek from the wheels of a train braking as it pulled into the station pierced his eardrums. By the time he wheeled his trolley around and went back the other way again, there were only five minutes left to go. The family of redheads was nowhere to be seen, but he was startled to see a bushy haired girl vanish into the dividing barrier between platforms nine and ten as a couple—very likely her parents—waved goodbye.

His heart pounded like a jackhammer and he hurriedly made a beeline for the spiffily dressed adults before they could disappear into the crowd.

"Excuse me—" he managed to wheeze, puffing heavily from the short dash, "Erm… Are you—I mean, did that girl really…?" Harry trailed off, his cheeks burning, not sure how to ask without seeming completely mental. What if he'd been seeing things?

The woman—her hair the same tawny-brown colour as the girl's, but much less bushy—smiled at him sympathetically.

"You must be all new to this as well," she said. "It does take a bit of getting used to. Where are your parents, dear?"

"Erm…" Harry's face felt even hotter. He wasn't sure how to tell two complete strangers that his parents were dead and that his aunt and uncle had left him stranded.

"Oh!" said the woman, looking even more sympathetic, as if she could somehow read his mind. "I'm sorry, dear. I didn't mean to upset you—you are trying to find Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, aren't you?"

"Yes!" Harry nodded vigorously, letting out a sigh of relief. "It's just—I don't know how—"

"Well, Hermione just walked straight at the barrier—if you're anxious, you should probably do it in a bit of a run. You'd best hurry now, before the train leaves without you."

"Thank you, erm…"

"It's Granger—Mrs. Granger. Now go on—Richard and I will look out for you until you've gone."

Harry shot Mr. and Mrs. Granger an exceedingly grateful look, then turned and aimed his trolley at the barrier. He started slowly, then broke into a run and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that he didn't crash into it. There was a sort of whoosh and he opened his eyes; he gaped in awe at the gleaming scarlet steam engine. It let out a loud whistle and billowing white smoke poured over the nearly empty platform.

There were barely two minutes left. Now Harry was panicked about finding a seat—the train appeared to be packed like sardines. He pelted down the platform and finally spotted an empty compartment; it was the very last compartment of the last carriage at the very end of the train. Flinging open the door of the carriage, Harry practically threw Hedwig's cage inside and she let out a squawk. His trunk weighed a ton, but he somehow managed to heft it up the steps and through the doorway, though he wasn't quite sure how. He slammed the door shut in the nick of time and tripped over his trunk as the train lurched into motion.

"Ow!" he muttered, rubbing his head.

Then, gasping and grunting, he dragged his trunk into the compartment, shut the door, and collapsed on the seat-row, panting and sweating heavily as the train began to chuff and clank. After a few minutes, Harry felt better enough to sit up and look out of the window at the houses flying by. The hours ticked on and Harry grew hungrier and hungrier, but he also grew happier and happier the further away he got from the Dursleys.

It was getting on for quarter to one when his compartment door slid open with a rattle and a roly-poly woman with a trolley laden with food and drinks beamed at him.

"Anything from the trolley, dear?"

"Oh! Yes, please!" said Harry, leaping up from his seat.

His mouth watered at the sight of all the sweets and snacks. He wasn't quite sure what to get, as he didn't recognize anything except some things which looked like pasties and meat-pies, so he got a bit of everything and a few fizzy drinks as well. The trolley-lady chuckled as he passed her eleven sickles and seven knuts.

"No breakfast, I suppose. Well, that lot should last you until you get to Hogwarts and I expect you'll have plenty left over to pack in your trunk."

"Er—I suppose so," said Harry, grinning. "Thank you!"

"Cheerio then, dear."

Harry munched away at a pork-pie first, then a pumpkin pasty, which tasted quite good. He washed it down with a fizzy lemonade and began digging into the pile of sweets and cakes. He opened some of the Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and ate about a dozen of them before spitting out a rather nasty tasting one.

"Liver? Blimey!" he muttered to himself. "They really do mean every flavour."

Feeling a bit put off the beans now, Harry reckoned he couldn't go wrong with a chocolate frog—as long as it wasn't actually a real frog covered in chocolate. To his relief, it was just chocolate straight through the middle. The packet also contained a collectible card which was quite interesting. The picture of the wizard on the card actually moved, vanishing briefly, then it popped back into the frame and waved at him, its crystal blue eyes twinkling merrily.

"Brilliant!" said Harry. "So that's Albus Dumbledore."

He had eaten several frogs and pored over cards with pictures of Morgana, Agrippa, Ptolemy, and Merlin, when the door slid open again, revealing a morose looking boy.

"Excuse me, I don't suppose you've seen a toad, have you?"

"I'm sorry, no!" said Harry, feeling a bit uncomfortable. "Er… He wasn't chocolate, was he?"

"No," the boy moaned, "he's my pet and I keep losing him."

Then the boy shut the door and was gone before Harry had a chance to offer his help. It was all well and good having loads of food and sweets, but Harry had hoped he might meet someone he could actually make friends with. Without Dudley around to scare them off, and no Uncle Vernon to forbid him from inviting anyone over to play, he reckoned he'd have a chance at finding someone who liked him. Harry sighed and began eating a Cauldron Cake, passing half of it to Hedwig.

He was on his second cake when the door opened again. He looked up eagerly and saw it was the bushy haired girl he'd seen on the platform.

"Hello, have you seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said in a bossy sort of voice.

"Sorry, no," said Harry, feeling a bit disappointed.

"Oh, alright," she sighed as she started to shut the door.

"Wait," Harry called out, "would you like to sit with me? Please? … I've got loads of food."

The girl hesitated.

"Well, I've already been up and down the whole train looking, but I probably should keep helping Neville—" she started to say reluctantly.

"You're Hermione, aren't you? … Hermione Granger?"

"What? How did you know?" she asked, looking very surprised.

"Your parents—I saw them on the platform after you went through the barrier. I didn't know how to get through, and they told me how."

"Oh!" Hermione shut the door and sat down excitedly. "Are you a muggleborn too then? I haven't met very many on the train—though, that doesn't mean anything really, I didn't go around asking everyone. It's very interesting, isn't it—the wizard world? I didn't even know I was a witch until Professor McGonagall showed up with a letter. I was ever so surprised. Odd things always used to happen around me, but I didn't know it was magic and that I was the one doing it. Mum and Dad were very surprised too, as nobody else in our family is magical, but they were really pleased to finally know what was going on—I've read all my school books already, of course, and learned them all by heart—have you? What's your name?"

Hermione's words had all tumbled out in a rush, and Harry was still trying to catch up when she finished. She peered at him eagerly with wide brown eyes as all of her words fell into place in his head.

"Er—actually, my parents were wizards, but I didn't know I was one, because they died when I was a baby and my aunt and uncle raised me, and they were muggles and they never told me I was a wizard—they don't like magic, you see?"

"Oh!" said Hermione, looking a bit sad. "I'm dreadfully sorry about your parents. But still—you're _almost_ like me then, growing up as a muggle."

"Yeah!" Harry nodded. "That's true. At least your parents are nice though—my aunt and uncle didn't want me to come to Hogwarts, so they tried to get away from all the owls. Hagrid ended up bringing me my letter—he's the one who told me I was a wizard."

"Hagrid? Who's he?"

"He's the Groundskeeper and the Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts," said Harry, very pleased to have finally met someone who was interested in talking to him. "He's really nice—really big though, like a giant—I think you'd like him. … Would you like a sweet, by the way? Or a fizzy drink? There's some pork-pies and pumpkin pasties too, if you'd rather."

Hermione peered at the sweets longingly.

"Well, I _am_ famished, as I haven't eaten since breakfast," she said, "but my mum and dad are dentists, so I probably ought to only have a pork-pie—and I suppose a pumpkin pasty would be alright too though—they're not _too_ sweet, are they?"

"No, not too sweet," Harry agreed, grinning as she took a dainty nibble of pork-pie.

She also decided that a fizzy lemonade would be alright to wash everything down with. It was the first time that Harry had ever had anything to share with someone, and it felt really nice, sitting there with Hermione, munching and swapping stories.

"Anyway," he went on happily, "weird things used to happen around me too, and I didn't know why either. … My aunt shaved off all my hair once, except for my fringe—I looked like one of those friars from the middle-ages—the ones with the stupid haircuts. It was horrible—anyway, it grew back overnight, and my aunt and uncle made me stay in my cupboard a whole week for that. … Then there was the zoo at the beginning of summer on my cousin's birthday—I accidentally let a snake out of a cage with magic and scared my cousin—"

Harry faltered, seeing a horrified look on Hermione's face, and he wondered if he'd said something wrong.

"Er… Are you alright?" he asked anxiously. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"What?" Hermione looked taken aback. "Me? What about you? Your aunt and uncle sound really horrid."

"Yeah!" said Harry, feeling a bit perplexed. "They're not nice at all, but why are _you_ upset about that?"

"Your aunt shaved all your hair off, and they made you live in a cupboard for a whole week," said Hermione shrilly. "That's _awful!_ … Why aren't _you_ more upset?"

"Er… I've always lived in a cupboard—it's under the stairs," said Harry, more bewildered than ever. "They didn't move me to Dudley's second bedroom until after my first letter from Hogwarts came. … The only thing different whenever they punished me was that I had to stay in the cupboard _all day_ —not just at night—except for school. Sometimes they'd lock me in, too. … I got four weeks in my cupboard for setting the snake free—but that's normal, right? I mean, it's not nice—I hate it—but that's the sort of thing parents do when they punish you for doing something wrong, isn't it?"

"No, it's not normal at all," said Hermione, shaking her bushy head and looking like she was on the verge of tears. "Nothing about it is normal—it's absolutely horrible how they treat you. Children are supposed to live in bedrooms, not in cupboards, and parents who punish children by locking them in cupboards for weeks on end sometimes go to prison if they get caught."

"Oh!" said Harry. "I didn't know."

"They didn't make your cousin live in a cupboard, did they?" said Hermione.

"No!"

"They didn't lock him in as punishment either, did they?"

"No! But I reckoned they just liked him better than me—they almost never punished Dudley—except when Uncle Vernon walloped him around the head a few weeks ago when he was trying to escape the owls. That was the only time I can remember him hitting Dudley though—"

Hermione looked like she might faint.

"Did—did your uncle hit you too, then?" she asked weakly, and this time tears really did start leaking from the corners of her eyes.

Harry almost said yes, loads of times, but seeing Hermione cry was making him feel really uncomfortable, and he reckoned that maybe he should steer the conversation back to pleasanter topics.

"Er…not much," he lied. "Just a little spank with a slipper maybe once or twice. It's alright, really—can we talk about other things now?"

Hermione looked like she wanted to talk about it some more, but then she seemed to think better about it. She sniffled and dabbed her eyes and nose with a hanky and nodded.

"Okay," she said. "What else did you want to talk about?"

Harry tried to remember the bits that Hermione had talked about that he hadn't responded to yet, and then he remembered.

"Erm," he said, feeling a bit sheepish, "I read all my schoolbooks too—but I didn't learn them by heart—I don't remember half of them even."

Oddly, Hermione perked up at that.

"You read _all_ your schoolbooks too? Really?"

"Yeah! I named my owl Hedwig because I found the name in _A History of Magic_ and I really liked it."

Hermione looked at Hedwig, and Harry was relieved to see her smiling again.

"Hedwig's really pretty," she said wistfully; then she looked at him again. "Anyway, it doesn't matter if you don't remember everything after only one read—I can help you with that. You're actually the first person I've met so far who seems to have read all their schoolbooks—Ron Weasley obviously hasn't."

"Who's Ron Weasley?"

"He's a boy sitting a few compartments down with two other boys—Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. They're all in our year. I'm sure they're all nice enough, I suppose," she said a bit haughtily, "but I doubt they've read a single book between the lot of them."

Hermione rolled her eyes and absentmindedly unwrapped a chocolate frog. Harry couldn't help grinning, feeling much better; he'd been really worried that he would be the only first year who didn't know anything. He suddenly remembered that there was one thing which he hadn't told Hermione yet.

"Oh, I'm Harry, by the way—Harry Potter."

Hermione nearly choked on the piece of chocolate and her eyes turned into saucers. She tried her best to swallow the chocolate before speaking.

"Are you really?" she said excitedly. "You're very famous! You're in all the history books—not the ones for school—the ones I picked up for extra reading— _Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts,_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_."

"Er—I am?"

"Yes!" Hermione beamed, then she frowned. "They're obviously not as good as I thought they were though. None of them say anything proper about you at all really. They just talk a bit about your—erm—well—what happened to you when you were a baby. You're nothing at all like what anyone would imagine from the way they go on about you."

"Er—I'm not?"

Harry wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing, but Hermione resolved his befuddlement and mixed feelings when she said, "No—you're _much_ nicer than I thought you might be. … I don't mean I thought you wouldn't be nice… I mean… Bother it—I'm not being very clear, am I? I thought you'd be more—I don't know—like other famous people—people you admire from afar, with lots of fans, signing autographs, that sort of thing."

"Oh!"

Harry thought back to the way people in The Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley seemed to treat him when they found out who he was, like he was a prince or something, and he had to agree with Hermione. That wasn't particularly fun at all. He'd rather have real friends than fans any day, and he couldn't be happier to meet someone who liked him as a friend.

"Well, er…thank you!" he said awkwardly, smiling and passing her another chocolate frog, not sure what else to say to his first real friend. "I think you're very nice too."

After that, Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon chatting, eating chocolate frogs and reading the cards—Hermione was very interested when Harry got Nicholas Flamel—and having the occasional laugh. And Harry really hoped he'd end up in whichever House Hermione got into.

They were in the middle of discussing the merits of Ravenclaw vs Gryffindor when they heard some shouting and scuffling in the corridor. They cracked open the door and cautiously peeked around it to see what was going on. Two compartments down, a rat was dangling from the end of a rather loutish looking boy's finger.

"That's Scabbers, Ron Weasley's rat," Hermione whispered.

The boy hurled the rat back into the compartment, then he took off running down the corridor followed by another brutish looking boy and a thin, blond-haired boy whom Harry recognised.

"That's Draco Malfoy," Harry whispered back. "I met him in Diagon Alley. He's not very nice at all—he reminds me of my horrible cousin—and he said he's going to be in Slytherin."

Hermione closed the door and they both sat down again, looking at each other with raised eyebrows.

"Well," said Hermione, "whichever House we end up in together, I just hope it's—"

Harry joined in at the end, in chorus with Hermione.

"—not Slytherin."


	2. His First Night

“Goodness gracious, Harry!” said Hermione, peering out of the window of their compartment, “it’s starting to get dark.”

Harry glanced through the window too and saw that she was right; wispy pink clouds drifted across purple skies. He couldn’t help gawking at the majestic view. It was the first time he had ever seen mountains and forests up close, rather than in schoolbooks, or on television whenever he was allowed to watch (which was very rare after the evening news; it usually only happened when the Dursleys had forgotten to send him to his cupboard).

“Harry,” said Hermione in her bossy tone of voice, “You’d better put your robes on quickly. We’ll be at Hogwarts very soon.”

“Er…Okay!” 

Harry opened his trunk, spotting his folded school uniform next to his robes. He glanced at Hermione who was still sitting in her seat and his face grew warm. She was already wearing her robes and didn’t seem to be inclined to leave. 

“Erm—”

“What?”

“Hermione, I need to change.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Harry. Do you want me to leave, then?”

“Erm—” Now Harry was in a quandary. He didn’t want to tell his new friend to leave, but he wasn’t sure that he felt comfortable changing in front of a girl either. “Not really, but—”

Hermione looked a bit exasperated, and like she was going to tell him to make up his mind, then she seemed to think better of it.

“Alright Harry. I’ll stand outside the door. Just knock when you’re ready.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks Hermione! I’ll be quick.”

Her bossy look softened and she gave him a little smile and got up. The moment she was gone Harry hurriedly changed into his uniform and robes, flinging his muggle clothes messily into his trunk, and sweeping the rest of his sweets on top. He knocked on the door and Hermione entered, sitting down with him again, then Harry frowned.

“What’s wrong now?”

“What about your luggage?”

“Oh! It’s in a compartment with some other girls. It should be alright though. I can get it when we get to the train station.”

Harry relaxed again, and moments later a voice emanated from some unknown source announcing their imminent arrival at Hogwarts.

“…Please leave your luggage on the train,” the voice continued, “it will be taken to the school separately.”

“See?” said Hermione primly. “It won’t be a problem at all now.”

“Cool!” said Harry, feeling relieved that he wouldn’t have to lug his monstrously heavy trunk off the train; but his stomach began doing little flips as the Hogwarts Express slowed. He looked at Hermione and saw that her prim expression had been replaced with one of anxiety.

There was a loud shriek as the train lurched to a halt. Harry and Hermione both gulped as they exited the train and joined the growing crowd. As they were jostled by the throng, Harry suddenly realised that Hermione had a tight grip on his hand—no doubt so as not to get separated from him in the mob of students—and he felt his cheeks growing warm with embarrassment again. He hadn’t really considered what people might think of him being best friends with a girl.

Harry buried that impulse, deciding quickly that he wasn’t going to care about what other people thought. Then he heard a familiar voice booming across the platform and saw a gigantic hairy figure with a glowing lantern towering over everyone.

“Firs’ years, this way!”

“That’s Hagrid,” said Harry, grinning.

“Oh, my goodness!” said Hermione, her eyes turning into saucers. “He _does_ look like a giant.”

Hagrid spotted Harry and beamed at him.

“Alrigh’ there, Harry? Who’s yer new friend then?”

“Hermione Granger,” said Harry, noticing that Hagrid was looking at the hand clutching his. 

Harry reminded himself he wasn’t going to let what other people thought bother him and he said boldly, “I met her on the train and she’s really nice.”

“Well, glad ter see yeh gettin’ along with folk an’ fittin’ in already, Harry.” Then Hagrid boomed out across the platform again, “Alrigh’ yeh lot, come on now—firs’ years follow me. An’ watch yer step—”

Hagrid’s warning couldn’t have been more well-taken. The path was steep and uneven, and it was nearly black under the thick canopy of the pine trees except for the glow of Hagrid’s lantern up ahead. Several boys who apparently thought that he and Hermione were walking too slowly roughly shouldered their way past, nearly knocking them off the path. 

“Hey!” said Harry crossly. 

Then one of the boys turned around and Harry instantly recognised him. 

“Oh, it’s you,” Draco Malfoy drawled, recognising Harry as well, and, like Hagrid, he took note of Hermione’s hand around Harry’s.

“Got yourself a girlfriend already, have you?” Malfoy chortled, and his goonish mates sniggered. “Potter, isn’t it? My father told me all about you—he said you’d be on the train.”

“Did he?” said Harry evenly, his eyebrows shooting up under his messy fringe.

“Yeah! He said you might be needing a friend, but it looks like you’ve already got one,” Draco Malfoy gave Hermione a sneery look. “Didn’t expect you to be the sort who hangs out with girls, though.”

“What’s wrong with girls?” Hermione snapped. “Now if you don’t mind moving, you’re blocking our way. Come on, Harry, don’t listen to him.” 

“Ooh! Going to let a girl boss you around, are you Potter? Who is she anyway?”

Already feeling a bit self-conscious about his best friend being a bit bossy and a girl, Harry opened his mouth to tell Malfoy to shove off, but Hermione beat him to the punch.

“If you _must_ know, I’m Hermione Granger,” she said haughtily. “Now, are you going to move or not?”

“Granger? What’s that—a muggle name?” Malfoy sneered.

“So what if it is?” said Harry coldly, now feeling oddly pleased that Hermione was a bit bossy—clearly she wasn’t about to put up with any rubbish from anyone.

“It just seems to me that you could do better than to hang around with her sort, Potter. You should upgrade to better friends—I can help you with that.”

“I’ve already got a better friend,” said Harry. “Anyway, you heard her, Malfoy. Either move on or get out of the way.”

“You want to watch it, Potter! If you’re not a bit politer, you’ll end up like your parents—you _and_ your girlfriend. I heard your father married a Mudblood too… Come on Crabbe, Goyle, seems like Potter’s picked a side already—the loser side.”

Malfoy and his two thuggish companions sniggered and shoved their way through some of the other first years up ahead, who all seemed to be too frightened of them to say anything.

Harry was still seething when he and Hermione began traipsing down the path again; he had no idea what a Mudblood was, but he knew it was some sort of nasty insult about his mother—and about Hermione too apparently. That’s when he noticed that his hand was now being crushed in her vice-like grip, and he glanced at her face which looked quite distraught now that Malfoy was gone, and her eyes looked like they were glistening a bit more wetly in the bobbing yellow light of Hagrid’s lantern. Apparently, she was much more anxious than she had let on. 

“You alright, Hermione?”

“I will be, Harry. Thanks for sticking up for me.” 

“Er… No problem,” he said, feeling slightly embarrassed and pleased at the same time. Hermione seemed to be brilliant at sticking up for herself, probably because she wasn’t used to other people sticking up for her, and Harry felt good for having an opportunity to stick up for someone other than himself for a change.

After slipping and stumbling down the path a bit further, they emerged from the black forest into starlight which sparkled on the smooth surface of an equally black lake. There seemed to be more stars than he had ever seen before.

“Wow!” said Harry.

“Oh my gosh!” Hermione squeaked, sounding more excited than anxious now.

Partway up the dark mountain looming on the other side of the vast lake, was a grand castle which looked like it was straight out of a fairy tale, with many ramparts and tall towers and a warm yellow glow shining through numerous windows.

“There she is,” said Hagrid proudly as the first years milled around him at the pebbly edge of the black lake, “Hogwarts—ain’ she a sight?”

Harry nodded, still gaping with awe as Hermione pulled him toward the lakeshore. Then he saw them, a fleet of little boats at the edge.

“No more’n four ter a boat,” Hagrid called out. “Yeh don’ wanna sink,” he chuckled. “The giant squid migh’ not like his sleep bein’interrupted.”

“Giant squid?” whimpered a high-pitched voice, “Father didn’t say anything about a squid.”

Hermione giggled and Harry blinked when they saw who it was. The whimpering had come from Draco Malfoy.

“Hah!” said Harry, grinning. “Not so brave after all, is he?”

“Apparently not,” Hermione agreed, smirking; her grip on his hand relaxed. “Anyway, let’s get a boat before they’re all taken.”

She led him towards the nearest boat, and they began to clamber in when two other boys approached.

“Hermione,” said a bright voice.

“Oh, hello, Neville,” said Hermione.

“Found your toad, then?” said Harry, pleased to see the boy looking more cheerful.

“Yeah, dunno where he was hiding, but I saw him hop off the train as soon as I got off.”

Then Hermione and the other boy caught each other’s eyes. Despite it being night, under the silvery light of thousands of stars Harry could clearly see his red hair and freckles, a spot of dirt on his nose, and was surprised to see a glare on his face.

“Come on, Neville,” said the red-haired boy stiffly, “I think Seamus and Dean have found a boat.”

“Oh, er… alright, Ron.” Neville waved at Hermione. “Thanks for helping me look for Trevor—see you inside.”

“Bye Neville.” Hermione looked a bit bewildered as Neville and the boy named Ron made their way to a boat nearby with two other boys already seated and waiting.

“Is that Ron Weasley, then? …the one with the rat?” asked Harry, equally puzzled. 

Hermione nodded. “Yes—he doesn’t seem to like me very much for some reason. I don’t know why, though. All I did was watch him try to do a spell to turn his rat yellow—but it didn’t work—it _can’t_ have been a very good spell.”

Harry grinned, catching on, and raised his eyebrows. “I don’t suppose you mentioned that it wasn’t a very good spell, did you?”

“I did, actually.”

“Hmm… that might have had something to do with it then,” he said nonchalantly as he and Hermione sat in the boat.

“Oh _no!”_ Hermione squeaked anxiously. “Do you think he took offence, then? I didn’t mean it that way—really!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry shrugged as the boat took off on its own accord. “It’s not that big of a deal. I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

They fell into silence for a while as the boat slowly glided across the mirrored surface of the lake towards the immense castle. The breeze was chilly, but Harry barely even noticed, nearly overwhelmed as he was with the sensation of floating through a sea of stars, reflections of the stars above. 

“They’re beautiful,” Hermione whispered, “like thousands of little diamonds.”

Harry had to agree, and he was glad now that there were no guys in the boat with him and Hermione. He reckoned he wouldn’t have paid nearly as much attention to the prettiness of it all, afraid of seeming too “girly” as Malfoy had more or less put it.

“Yeah, they are,” Harry whispered back.

“Watch yer heads,” Hagrid shouted when they approached the ivy-covered craggy rocks under a cliff on the side of the castle facing the lake. 

At first, Harry thought they were headed for the boathouse nearby, but the boats slipped into the curtain of ivy concealing the maw of a cave, and he ducked as Hagrid had suggested. It was more than a bit spooky in the blackness as Hagrid’s lantern was too far ahead now to do them much good. There was a chorus of chittering above them from creatures unseen, and Hermione grabbed his hand again.

The boat carried them deeper and deeper into the tunnel until it eventually came to a stop at a little stone jetty. They clambered out of the boat and Harry almost slipped on the slimy rocks, but Hermione caught him before he fell into the underground river. Then Hagrid led them all up a steep stone staircase which emerged onto a grassy hillside. 

They continued to follow him across the grounds and up to a stone courtyard and an ancient, massive oak front door—which was actually two doors latched in the middle. One side of the doors swung open and Harry was briefly blinded by the glare of light before seeing the severe looking witch with a steely gaze standing in the doorway.

“There you are,” the witch snapped. “I thought you’d never get here.”

Hagrid chuckled. 

“Gotta take things nice an’ slow an’make sure the young uns get here safe’n sound, Professor McGonagall.”

“Yes, yes! Of course, Rubeus—it just seemed to be a bit slower than usual this year. We simply _must_ be getting on with the Sorting—first years, follow me, and no dawdling.”

Harry gulped and Hermione gripped his hand again. He could feel his heart thudding against the wall of his chest and heard Hermione’s breathing quicken as Professor McGonagall led them all into an entrance hall large enough for a three-ring circus tent, lit only by flaming torches.

The professor’s clicking footsteps on the marble floor echoed as she led the first years to another gargantuan doorway, which was already wide open. 

“Right then,” she said sharply before taking them through, “the start-of-term feast is about to begin in the Great Hall, but first you must all be Sorted…”

Professor McGonagall launched into an explanation of the importance of the Ceremony and the Houses, and by the time she had finished and led them into the Great Hall, all the first years were scared out of their wits. 

Harry’s stomach squirmed when he saw all the other students in the school—hundreds of them it seemed—staring at the first years and murmuring, some of them laughing.

“Titchier than ever…” he heard someone chortling.

“Blimey, Hermione, how are we going to be sorted? What are we supposed to do?” He thought his chest might burst now, his heart was hammering so hard.

“Probably some sort of test,” Hermione whispered, looking just as worried as him. “I’ve learned loads of spells, but I have no idea which ones they’ll expect us to know.”

“But I don’t remember _any,_ ” Harry groaned. “I sort of remembered a couple before we got off the train, but now I can’t think of any at all.”

“Well,” said Hermione, breathing so rapidly that she looked like she might hyperventilate, “If they go alphabetically, I’ll be going before you. Just watch whatever I do very carefully—I’m sure you can manage them, Harry—I don’t doubt for a minute that you’re going to be a brilliant wizard one day—”

“It’s today I’m worried about,” said Harry with a hint of sarcasm.

“You can do this, Harry!” she said forcefully, “I’ll tell you how to do as many spells as I can before I get called. Here’s a quick list of some of the basic first-year spells: Incendio, Wingardium Leviosa, Colloportus, Reparo, Diffindo, Spongify, Alohomora, Finite Incantatem, Flipendo, Lumos, Nox, Fumos…” 

Hermione rattled off the spells in rapid fire—so fast it made his head spin. But at least he caught a few of them, which jogged his memory a bit. And then Hermione began to explain each one at high speed, but thankfully slow enough for him to hear every word.

“…and just remember, it’s Win- _ **gar**_ -dium Levi- _ **o**_ -sa... **not** Win-gar-dium Levio- _ **sah**_ —make gar nice and long and put the accent on the o—and don’t forget to swish and flick—”

“—swish and flick,” Harry nodded, “Okay, I think I’ll be able to remember that one now. What’s the next one—?”

He suddenly spotted Professor McGonagall setting a tottery old stool—which looked like it was about to fall apart—at the front of the staff table, right in front of the entirety of the assembled students and he began to panic again. He grabbed Hermione’s shoulders and spun her around so that she could see what was going on.

“What on earth…?” Hermione gasped when she saw Professor McGonagall setting a rumpled, tatty old hat on the four-legged stool.

Harry was equally stumped, but then his heart-rate began to slow slightly when Professor McGonagall explained about trying on the hat.

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad,” he muttered.

“Speak for yourself,” Hermione moaned, “That hat is filthy.” 

They heard a load groan and looked down the queue to see Ron Weasley.

“I’m going to kill Fred and George,” Ron griped at Neville. “They told me I was going to have to wrestle a troll.”

Neville gave Ron a nervous little chuckle.

“Honestly!” huffed Hermione, rolling her eyes, “How could he have _possibly_ believed such a silly thing?”

Harry grinned, feeling his mood lighten a bit more. Then his eyes widened in surprise when a rip in the frayed hat opened like a mouth and began to sing to a tune that sounded a bit like an Irish jig. As it went through the character traits of the Houses, he began to get nervous again and he desperately hoped he wouldn’t be put in Slytherin. He just wanted to go to whichever House Hermione was in, and there was no doubt in his mind that it wouldn’t put her in Slytherin.

Then Professor McGonagall unrolled a scroll of parchment, and she did indeed call up the first years alphabetically, beginning with Abbott, Hannah. Finally, she got to Granger, Hermione’s name.

“…not Slytherin, not Slytherin…” he heard her muttering under her breath.

“Good luck,” Harry whispered, reaching out and giving her hand a quick squeeze. She nervously smiled at him and began to shakily make her way to the end of the Great Hall. 

Hermione sat on the stool and grimaced when Professor McGonagall placed the grimy looking hat on her head. The minutes ticked on and Harry’s stomach clenched; it was the longest anyone had worn the hat yet and Hermione appeared to be scowling and almost looked like she was arguing with the hat. Finally, the hat bellowed out, “GRYFFINDOR!” and Hermione slumped, looking very relieved. She beamed at Harry and made her way to the Gryffindor table. There was a smattering of applause from the Gryffindors and a groan a bit further down the queue.

“Bloody hell!” Ron Weasley moaned.

“She’s not so bad,” said Neville, “She’s quite nice really. She did help me look for Trevor, after all.”

“I suppose that’s something,” Ron grumbled.

Harry frowned, and Neville nudged Ron. Ron glanced at Harry and gulped. When Neville was called up, leaving Ron all by himself, he shuffled his feet anxiously and avoided looking at Harry. 

Harry sighed; he was supposed to be making friends with people, not scaring them. Weasley didn’t seem so bad really and Harry couldn’t really blame him for being annoyed when Hermione had told him his spell wasn’t very good—even though it was apparently true. He had just hoped that Ron Weasley would have got over it by now.

Finally, it was Harry’s turn.

“Potter, Harry!” Professor McGonagall called out.

There were gasps and a buzz of voices filled the Hall when Harry stepped away from the queue. Ron gaped at him in shock, his ears turning pink—there was a hint of excitement and apology in Weasley’s face when Harry passed by him.

Harry’s legs felt like jelly and his heart began to race again as he made his way to the front of the Hall. He tried to ignore all the eyes on him. Hermione shot him an encouraging smile from the Gryffindor table, where she was sitting next to Patil, Parvati and Brown, Lavender. She seemed to be determinedly holding a space open for him on the bench beside her, and he hoped beyond all hope that the hat would see things his way. 

Harry sat on the rickety wooden stool, hoping that he wouldn’t be the one to break it, and the hat fell over his eyes, blotting out the Hall filled with students staring at him in anticipation. He suddenly heard a voice inside his head.

“Hmm,” the hat muttered, “Where to put you—where to put you—what a quandary. Much Courage and Bravery I see, and Loyalty beyond measure too—a reasonably sharp Wit—and Talent—my goodness— _great_ Talent indeed—not to mention a strong willingness to work hard under the right set of circumstances—and what’s this? Very curious—a thirst for Greatness and Power I see—”

“What?” Harry scowled, unnervingly reminded of Ollivander the wand-maker’s comment and mentally shooting his internal voice back at the hat, “I couldn’t give a hang about Greatness and Power—I just want to be with my friend!”

“But it’s all here in your head,” said the hat, sounding perplexed, “Cunning, Deviousness, a strong desire to Rule above all—”

“You must be joking!” Harry snapped, growing cross.

“Not at all, my dear boy—not at all. You would do quite well in Slytherin—”

“NO!” Harry yelled in his head, panic warring with his anger. “That’s mental! Just put me with my friend!”

“Are you sure?” asked the hat, “Slytherin seems a—”

“IF YOU DON’T PUT ME WITH HERMIONE, I’LL…I’LL… I’LL THROW YOU IN THE BLOODY LAKE!” Harry bellowed.

“Well, now,” sniffed the hat, “there’s no need to get all snippy about it—and your great sense of loyalty makes you a marvelous candidate for Hufflepuff I must say—”

“WHAT’S SO HARD TO UNDERSTAND ABOUT ME WANTING TO BE WITH MY FRIEND?”

“FINE! Okay! Alright! … There’s no need to keep yelling at me!” said the hat grumpily, “I must admit, your Bravery and Friendship are very strong indicators—not to mention your Stubbornness—all of which make you an exceptional candidate for—GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry heard the last word being shouted out loud for the entire Hall to hear. Now he knew exactly how Hermione had felt and slumped, both exhausted and relieved. Professor McGonagall whipped the hat off Harry’s head, looking annoyed and very proud.

“Took you long enough, Potter—” she groused, the barest hint of a smile around the strict witch’s eyes and the corners of her lips, “almost as long as Granger—now run along—quickly now—there’s more Sorting to be done.” 

Harry hopped off the stool, finally registering the whoops and cheers of delight from Gryffindor table. Two more familiar looking redheads—twins apparently—were standing on the bench and yelling gleefully, “We got Potter! We got Potter!” and Hermione was beaming at him radiantly.

“I knew it, Harry!” she shrieked with excitement as he sat down beside her, nearly bursting his eardrums, “I knew you’d get into Gryffindor!”

Patil, Parvati and Brown, Lavender fell into a fit of giggles on the other side of Hermione.

“Blimey!” said Harry, grinning at her, “It was bloody hard though—the stupid hat wanted to put me in—” he almost said Slytherin but thought better of it, still feeling needled by what the hat had told him, “—nearly every House,” he concluded vaguely.

His crossness faded though while he watched the last few students being sorted. Weasley, Ron was shivering and looked like he was about to throw up, but the hat yelled out, “GRYFFINDOR!” the instant it hit his head.

He made his way over to the Gryffindor table looking relieved and sat next to Neville, giving Harry a sheepish grin. Harry smiled back and noticed yet another redhead, even older than the twins, clapping Ron on the back.

“Well done, Ron! Splendid!” said the older redhead in a posh sounding voice, “Excellent! Mum and Dad will be so proud—”

“Yes, spiffing, Ron, old chum…” said one of the twins, mimicking the older redhead and grinning wickedly.

“…Marvelous,” said the other redhead, also imitating the older boy who scowled at them both, “Simply marvelous, my good fellow!”

Ron looked both amused and aggravated, as if he wasn’t certain that the twins were actually pleased that he had ended up in Gryffindor. 

Harry laughed out loud and it suddenly hit him why the redheads all seemed so familiar—they had been part of the large family who had breezed right by him in King’s Cross. They seemed like an alright bunch, he reckoned.

He felt Hermione take his hand under the table and give it a squeeze, and she was still beaming happily at him between rolling her eyes at the silly antics of the Weasley brothers. Harry grinned at Hermione and couldn’t be happier to have her as his first real friend.


	3. His First Week

"The Sorting Hat tried to put me in Ravenclaw," Hermione told Harry as they followed the other first year Gryffindors and Percy Weasley up the stairs, stopping every once in a while to wait for the stairs to move to the right landing, "But I really, really wanted to be in Gryffindor."

"It really _did_ want to put me in every House," said Harry, carefully not specifying Slytherin and hoping he wasn't going to put his first real friend off him.

She peered at him shrewdly for a minute.

"No way," she said confidently, as if she had just read his mind. "You _definitely_ don't belong in Slytherin at all. I don't know _what_ that stupid hat was thinking." Hermione rolled her eyes.

Harry let out a sigh of relief, feeling much better—for the most part. He rubbed at his scar again, puzzled.

"Are you alright?"

"Er… Dunno—it's my scar!" said Harry. "It's weird—it never hurt or itched me before—only since that one professor looked at me."

"Are you talking about the mean looking one who gave you the horrid glare?"

"Yeah," said Harry, surprised, but happy to know that he hadn't just been imagining things, and that his glasses were still working. "You saw him giving me dirty looks too?"

"Yes." Hermione nodded. "I noticed you rubbing your scar then as well, and I saw you both looking at each other—well, _you_ were looking, and he was glaring. But I didn't think much about it until just now when you rubbed your scar again."

"D'you think that means something, then?" asked Harry, feeling a bit worried now.

"I really don't know," said Hermione, scowling as if it hurt her not to know something. "But he really didn't seem to like you—maybe…"

"Maybe what?" Harry was beginning to feel quite alarmed.

"Well," said Hermione carefully, "have you ever met him before?"

"I don't think so, no! … I dunno why he'd hate me if he doesn't even know me—I never did anything to him."

"It's just—" Hermione bit her tongue.

"Just what?"

"It's just that… _everyone_ sort of knows about you," she said sympathetically. "And now that I've met you and got to know you a bit, I can tell you don't really like that—but maybe there's something _he_ knows about you that he doesn't like."

"Oh!" Harry's eyebrows shot up under his untidy fringe. They both peered at each other a moment, neither one of them knowing what to make of that.

"So, what about those ghosts then?" said Harry, his voice falsely bright as he changed the subject. "Cool, weren't they? Nearly-Headless Nick was a bit of a laugh!"

Hermione pursed her lips primly, as if she wanted to stay on topic, but they were distracted by Percy the Prefect yelling at a poltergeist. Harry and Hermione fell silent for the last bit of the journey. They came up short when Percy suddenly came to a halt at the end of a corridor and introduced the first year Gryffindors to the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Well, that's a bit rude, isn't it?" said Hermione, "Doesn't she have a proper name, then?"

"Er…" Percy Weasley looked a bit disconcerted, then he frowned. "That's just what we call her—now never you mind. I'm a prefect, aren't I?"

Ron let out a little snort of amusement, briefly looking even more like one of his twin brothers than he already did. Percy scowled and ignored him.

"Caput Draconus," he snapped at the portrait.

"Temper, temper," the Fat Lady tittered as she swung open to reveal a round hole in the wall.

Half of the first years needed help getting through the portal, which made Percy even more irritable. Ron Weasley hauled his friend Neville through the hole, and Harry gave Hermione a boost before clambering through himself.

It was much warmer in the common room than it had been in the cold stone corridors of the castle—due to the roaring fire in the enormous hearth—and there were lots of puffy, well cushioned armchairs and sofas next to little mahogany tables. Nearly everything seemed to be scarlet and gold.

"All right then," Percy began officiously, as older students entered the common room through the portal behind them, "girls up that staircase there, and boys up that staircase on the other side—first year dormitories are at the very top, and you lot should normally be in bed by nine o'clock, but it's ten o'clock tonight because dinner is so late first night of the term."

"But what if we need to study more after nine o'clock?" asked Hermione, who looked more than a bit upset.

"You'll just have to study in bed then," said Percy, who seemed oddly impressed at the question. "Just remember that breakfast starts at seven."

There wasn't very much time left before ten o'clock, and the common room was filling up with older students. Harry and Hemione had just a few minutes to say good night to each other. They peered at each other awkwardly for a moment, and Hermione looked like she was trying to decide something. Then, to Harry's surprise and embarrassment, she flung her arms around him and gave him a hug. His cheeks felt hot when he heard Parvati and Lavender giggling at them.

Before Hermione let him go, she whispered in his ear, "Thank you for being my friend, Harry. I've never really had a proper one before."

She let him go and beamed at him, her cheeks turning pink, and then she ran up the spiral staircase to the girls' dormitories. Harry stared at her in a sort of numb shock until she disappeared; he couldn't remember anyone ever hugging him before in his life. He supposed that his parents must have hugged him when he was a baby, and found that the numbness faded, leaving him only with the shock, which felt more like a stab of pain in his stomach until it really sank in that Hermione liked him enough to hug him.

Harry followed the other first year boys up to their dormitory, and was happy and relieved to see his trunk waiting for him in the centre of the room. He dragged it to the foot of one of the four-poster beds with red and gold hangings near a window. Hedwig wasn't there; he assumed that she was living with some other owls somewhere else in the castle, and found himself wishing she was with him to keep him company.

As Harry pulled on his pyjamas (which had holes instead of knees) he felt a bit left out of things. Seamus was telling Dean about quidditch teams—apparently Dean was new to the Wizard World as well—and Ron was complaining to Neville about Percy.

Ron caught Harry's eye, gave him an anxious grin, then quickly looked away, his ears reddening. Harry sighed, deciding that Ron was still feeling awkward. But then Seamus and Dean turned their attention to him.

"So what about you, Harry?" said Seamus. "What's your favourite quidditch team?"

"Oh," said Harry, "I, er, don't really know any yet."

"Really?" said Seamus, looking surprised. "I thought your parents were wizards."

"Yeah," Harry nodded, "but I lived with my aunt and uncle, and they're muggles. They...er … never told me I was a wizard."

"Oh," said Dean. "What about football then? D'you have a favourite club?"

"Erm, not really," said Harry, his cheeks growing hotter with embarrasment. "My uncle just seems to like which ever club is winning—I don't, er… usually watch…" he trailed off, not wanting to tell them that Uncle Vernon never let him watch unless it was on the television in the kitchen while they were eating dinner.

Dean nodded, then went back to chatting with Seamus. Harry crawled onto his bed, pulled up his covers, and sighed. At least the bed felt a lot nicer than the horrible lumpy one in Dudley's toy room or the horrible tiny cot (which had been getting far too small for him in recent years) in the cupboard under the stairs, and at least he felt full for a change. He lay awake for a while thinking about how nice it was to not feel half-starved, and about how nice it was to have a friend—a _proper_ friend, Hermione had called him.

With that pleasant thought in mind, and the certainty that he would see her again in the morning, he eventually drifted off with a little smile on his face.

**~o0o~**

Harry woke up feeling more rested than he could ever recall feeling. Other than the odd bit of dream that he couldn't quite remember, the rest had been nice—mostly about eating, flying around on a broomstick, and about his new friend.

Hermione blushed when she saw him again in the common room, and they went down to breakfast together; Harry tried his hardest to ignore the giggles of Parvati and Lavender, and the smirks of Dean and Seamus.

Whispers and stares seemed to follow Harry all day, which he tried to ignore as well. At least he had Hermione to distract him, and most of the classes—which he had eagerly been looking forward to—were really interesting. They were both disappointed that there wasn't much wand waving that first day though.

The rest of the week passed in a happy blur as they began to practice the spells they were learning. Only History of Magic was boring, and that was only because Professor Binns—who was a ghost—put him to sleep almost immediately with his monotonous, droning voice. Hermione had to keep nudging him awake and give him reproachful glares.

"Sorry, Hermione," he said after class. "It's just Binns. He's so—"

"...boring," Hermione sighed. "That's true. But you really should try harder to stay awake and take notes."

"I really like reading the history book though," said Harry quickly. "I'm sure most of what he's teaching is in the book."

"Well," she said slowly, her bossy look softening, "most of the basics are in the book, that's true. But still, there are lots of bits that aren't. I suppose you can always read my notes if you miss a bit here and there."

The only other thing which seemed to annoy Hermione was trying to find their way to classes, as the rooms and doors seemed to move around as much as the stairs did, and were in different locations on different days.

" _Honestly_ ," said Hermione, who was thoroughly exasperated when they had to try numerous doors before finding the Transfiguration classroom, "this is ridiculous! How on earth are we supposed to get to classes on time?"

"It's really stupid," Harry agreed. "Still, they must have a sort of schedule to stick to. I expect we'll just have to memorise where they are on different days."

Harry was pleased when Hermione nodded and her frown turned into a smile.

"Of course," she said. "That makes a lot of sense, Harry. And I suppose it _is_ a lot more fun and magical this way."

Harry was also grateful that Hermione had agreed to bring her books along and study outside after classes instead of being cooped up in the castle all day. She had been a bit surprised at first at the idea of actually studying outdoors, which seemed to have never occurred to her before.

"It really is lovely here," she confessed, peering out across the lake at the mountains on the other side. "Hampstead Heath is nice enough I suppose, but it's a big park more than anything, really. _This_ … this is _almost_ like the Swiss Alps. I've been there twice on holiday with Mum and Dad."

Hermione forgot all about studying for nearly an hour as she cheerily told him all about Switzerland, and admired the view.

On Friday morning, Hedwig brought Harry his first piece of mail since the letters that Hogwarts had kept trying to send him during the summer. He wondered who might be writing to him until he saw that it was a note from Hagrid.

"He's invited me to tea after lunch, seeing as we have Friday afternoons free. D'you want to come with me?"

"I'd love to," said Hermione, which almost surprised Harry, as he had thought she might want to spend their extra free time studying.

The morning was taken up by a double period of Potions, and after class had finished Harry and Hermione couldn't get out of the dungeons fast enough. Tea with Hagrid sounded like the most wonderful thing in the world at that point.

"What a _horrid_ teacher!" said Hermione; who still looked on the verge of tears. "He was simply _awful!_ … I can't believe how nasty he was to you after you answered all of his questions _perfectly_. And he wouldn't let _me_ answer any at all."

"At least he didn't make my scar hurt," Harry muttered, rubbing absentmindedly at his forehead.

"That's good," she said sympathetically. "It _is_ odd how he makes it hurt sometimes during meals when he glares at you."

Tea with Hagrid made them both feel a lot better (though Hermione made a face at first when Hagrid's boarhound, Fang, practically bowled her over as they entered his hut, and drooled over the pair of them when they sat down).

"Bloomin' git!" said Hagrid when they both told him about Snape.

"He was _dreadful!"_ Hermione took another sip of tea from a flowery mug which looked more as if it belonged in an old lady's house than Hagrid's. "He seemed to absolutely _hate_ Harry—"

"Nah!" said Hagrid shiftily, "Why would he?"

Why indeed, Harry thought to himself.

"You weren't there," said Hermione, and she glowered at Hagrid. "He was mean to everyone except Draco Malfoy, but he _definitely_ had it in for Harry. He docked _ten_ points from him and said that it was all Harry's fault that Neville forgot to add porcupine quills to his potion. How is _that_ fair?"

"Oh, er..." Hagrid looked quite taken aback at Hermione's vehemence. "…S'pose tha' does sound a bit much. Dunno wha' that's all abou' ..."

That seemed to mollify Hermione, but Hagrid still wouldn't quite meet Harry's eye. That's when Harry noticed the headline of the _Daily Prophet._

"Hagrid, the bank robbery happened on my birthday—when you took me to Diagon Alley. You said anyone'd be mental to try and burgle Gringotts. Who d'you think would try to do something like that?"

"Yeh got me there." Hagrid averted his eyes again.

On their way back to the castle, Harry mulled things over out loud, sharing his thoughts with Hermione.

"...but whoever it was didn't actually manage to get anything, according to Gringotts. What if they were after the thing in the vault that Hagrid got out for Dumbledore? … There wasn't anything else in that vault—and wouldn't all the other vaults have stuff in them worth stealing?"

"Hmm… Maybe," said Hermione, sounding skeptical. "But they must have at least a few empty vaults for new clients. It could be that the robber just got the wrong vault and left before he could get caught."

"Yeah—I suppose," said Harry, sighing. "Still—you have to admit, it's a bit strange that it would happen the same day that Hagrid took something out of that one vault."

"It does seem a _bit_ odd," she agreed, after hesitating a moment. Harry could tell that she still didn't really believe it, but he couldn't help feeling good that she was willing to at least consider the possibility.

**~o0o~**

If there was any other boy that Harry hated even more than Dudley, it was Draco Malfoy. Harry already despised him after the way he had insulted Hermione that first night on the path down to the lake from the Hogwarts Express, but on the following Thursday, Malfoy had shown what a truly horrible person he really was. It all happened during flying lessons, which the Gryffindors had with the Slytherins.

"Well, this is just brilliant," Harry grumbled sarcastically. "Just what I needed—looking like an idiot in front of Malfoy."

"I'm sure you won't, Harry," Hermione reassured him as she eyed her own broom dubiously. "Remember that dream you told me about—the one in which you were flying? … You seemed so happy about it—I think you might be really good at this."

"Huh! You really think so?"

"I do!" she said firmly. "I'm not sure that _I'll_ be any good at it though—I hate heights. I used to dream about falling a lot when I was little."

Harry had to admit, Hermione did look frightened. The only person who seemed even more scared was Neville. Ron looked a bit nervous, but rather excited as well—for the first time at Hogwarts, he actually looked more self-confident, and more interested in actually learning something.

"Buck up, Nev. It's not so bad once you get the hang of it," Harry overheard Ron saying. "I fly Charlie's old broom all the time at home—I nearly hit a hang glider once."

"That's nothing!" sneered Draco Malfoy. "I dodge those muggle flying things with the spinning things on top all the time—you know, those metal things which look like giant mosquitoes?

"You mean _helicopters_?" said Harry, smirking, suddenly feeling much more confident. "You're just lucky you didn't fly into the blades and get turned into mincemeat."

Malfoy scowled, looking like he was trying to think of a witty reply.

Hermione couldn't help glancing at Harry anxiously.

"Oh no! You don't think that could really happen, do you?"

"Nah," he said quickly. "Malfoy's just being stupid. If he'd ever got close enough to have to dodge it, he'd get sucked into the propellers. … Anyway, there's no way someone with your brains would be that daft!"

Hermione beamed at him and looked a lot less scared.

The flying teacher finally arrived, and she looked even more crabby and no-nonsense than Professor McGonagall.

"Right, hop to it then," she snapped. "Pick a broom and stand next to it."

Harry peered at the brooms on the ground next to him and Hermione; the one she was standing by looked ancient and splintery, and was missing half of its twigs.

"Here, switch with me," he said. "My broom is loads better."

"What? But—"

"You'll have a better chance to get the hang of it with a half-way decent broom," he stated firmly. "There's no way I'm going to let that git Malfoy show me up, no matter how rubbish my broom is."

Hermione frowned and looked she was going to argue; Harry knew he was pushing things because she didn't like to be coddled. But she seemed to think better of it. They switched places and she shot him a grateful smile.

At Madam Hooch's command, everyone shouted, "Up!" at their broomsticks. Harry's leapt off the ground right into his hand. Hermione's eyes widened in surprise when her broom wobbled very slowly towards her own hand.

Neville's broom remained resolutely on the ground, but Ron's drifted up relatively smoothly with only a few shakes—which probably had more to do with the broom's advanced state of disrepair than anything. Draco's broom flew into his hand, but not nearly as fast as Harry's had. The only other ones whose broomsticks barely moved were Crabbe's and Goyle's, but Harry reckoned that was probably because they could barely form a cohesive thought between the two of them.

Madam Hooch grew even more irritable, if possible, while she waited until Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle, finally managed to get their brooms off the ground.

Hermione gave Harry a nervous grin as they both mounted their brooms along with the other students.

That was as far as the lesson got. The next thing everyone knew, Neville was being taken to the hospital wing with a broken wrist, and Malfoy was laughing his head off.

"What a pathetic loser," he guffawed. "He's practically a squib."

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry, Hermione, and Parvati all snapped in unison.

"Don't talk about my friend like that," Ron snarled at Malfoy, balling one of his fists, his other hand reaching for his wand.

"Or what? Who's going to make me? You?"

Ron's ears reddened, and he scowled, looking torn between wanting to punch or hex Malfoy and not wanting to get in trouble.

"I am, if you keep flapping your big fat mouth," said Harry, stepping forward when Ron didn't say anything.

Malfoy was about to issue a retort when Pansy Parkinson picked up something which was glittering in the grass.

"Look, Draco... It's that stupid thing Longbottom's Gran sent him."

Malfoy snatched the shiny ball from the air when she tossed it at him. He grinned at Harry and jumped on his broom.

"Right then! If you think you can take me on, come and get Longbottom's toy, Potter!" he jeered, then he sailed up into the air and hovered near a yew tree.

"You're on, Malfoy!" Harry growled, straddling his broom.

"Harry, _no_!" said Hermione sharply. "You'll get into _loads_ of trouble."

Harry ground his teeth, his blood boiling, and glanced up at Malfoy, not sure what to do. He didn't want to ignore his best friend, but he didn't want to let Malfoy get the better of him either.

Malfoy grinned down at him.

"What's the matter, Potter? Scared? … Are you going to let your _girlfriend_ keep bossing you around like that?"

Oddly enough, that broke the hold that Harry's anger had on him and his fury melted away. He narrowed his eyes and gave Draco Malfoy a dangerous little smile.

"No!" Harry shouted up at him, shaking his head. "I'm not letting _you_ boss me around! If _you're_ so brave, then come back down. Why are you running away from me?"

Ron sniggered, and the rest of the Gryffindors started laughing too. Draco Malfoy's pale cheeks flushed, and he angrily hurled the Remembrall at Harry as if hoping to hit him with it. Harry reached up his hand and deftly plucked the sparkling ball from the air.

"Thanks, Malfoy!" he said, grinning. "Neville will be really pleased."

A loud "OI!" caught everyone's attention and they turned to see Madam Hooch stalking across the lawn.

"Get down here this instant, Mr Malfoy!" she barked. "That's a detention and ten points from Slytherin—and you'll be lucky if I let you get back on a broom before the end of term."

There was more laughter from the Gryffindors, and on the way back to the castle Harry walked up to Ron

"Here, give this to Neville," he said, handing Ron the Remembrall.

"Yeah! Thanks for that, Harry," said Ron, smiling a bit stiffly, "Will do."

Harry supposed that was the best he could expect for now. It was evident that Ron seemed to really like and admire him (and was perhaps even a bit afraid of him), but Ron still didn't like Hermione—Harry had overheard him grumbling to Neville about her being a bossy know-it-all more than once.

And for her part, Hermione had increasingly grown to dislike Ron over the course of the first week when it became clear that he didn't like her.

One evening in the common room, Ron and Neville had been moaning at each other about not being able to understand a single word that Professor McGonagall had said, and Hermione had tried to patiently explain the theory to them.

That had not ended well. Neville had been more confused than ever, and Ron had been furious at her for butting in. Ron hadn't said much to Hermione other than to angrily say, "Mind your own business," though, because he had spotted Harry nearby. And then he'd marched off to the other side of the common room and began a game of Wizard Chess with Neville after giving up on their homework.

"He's _such_ an idiot!" Hermione huffed following that incident. "And he's lazy too. He's not going to get very far with that attitude."

"Probably not," Harry absently agreed while struggling to make sense of his Transfiguration notes and write his essay.

"Oh, that's quite good, Harry," she said, perking up as she looked over his shoulder. "There's just one teensy little mistake..."


	4. His First Real Mystery

During dinner, Harry was digging heartily into his shepherd's pie while Hermione was chatting with Parvati and Lavender between bites of roast chicken and potatoes about how horrible Malfoy was.

"Thanks, Harry," said Neville after Ron told him what had happened while he had been in the hospital wing. "Gran would've killed me if I'd lost the Remembrall."

"No problem, Neville," said Harry, grinning. "It was a lot easier getting it back for you than I thought it would be."

"Wish you could've been there, Nev," said Ron, somehow articulating himself through a mouthful of mashed potato. "You should've seen Malfoy's face when Harry asked him why he was running away." He snorted with mirth, thankfully after swallowing. "It was bloody brilliant!"

"I'll say," said Seamus, chuckling. "It was even better than when Harry told Snape to piss off last week."

"Well, I wasn't actually _trying_ to be rude to Snape," Harry muttered, frowning at the memory. "All I did was ask him why he wasn't letting anyone else answer the questions."

Seamus shrugged. "Either way, it was brilliant!"

"Yeah, it was," said Dean, grinning. The grin faded when he spotted three Slytherins nearing the table. "Looks like Malfoy's got a bone to pick with you, Harry."

Harry sighed and looked up from his plate. Sure enough, Draco Malfoy and his goon squad, Crabbe and Goyle, were approaching with menacing expressions on their faces.

"What're you doing here, Malfoy?" Ron snarled.

"Not that it's any of your business, Weasel-boy," Malfoy sneered, "I just thought I'd have a little chat with Scarface about his manners."

Harry's eyebrows rose up his forehead and Hermione shot daggers at Malfoy through narrowed eyes. Neville shrank in his seat, and Ron's ears reddened.

"Come to ask me for politeness lessons, then, have you?" asked Harry.

Ron let out a little snigger, and Lavender giggled. Draco Malfoy's sneer deepened, but he kept his eyes locked on Harry's, ignoring all the others on him.

"Actually, I was planning on teaching _you_ a few, Potter."

"What? Right now? … I already know how to chew with my mouth closed."

There were a few more hoots of laughter around the Gryffindor table, the loudest coming from Fred and George, Ron's twin brothers. Malfoy's pasty cheeks reddened.

"I was thinking later on tonight—just you and me—for a Wizard Duel—say, around midnight in the trophy room."

Harry was briefly puzzled, and his expression must have given him away.

"Never heard of a Wizard Duel, Potter? You really have been living with muggles too long."

Hermione shot a worried look at Harry, and it all fell into place. Draco wanted a fight—not with fists, but with wands. She looked like she wanted to tell him no, but she stayed silent, as if she knew that this might not be the best time to tell Harry her thoughts on the matter.

He didn't really need her to tell him, though, now that he knew what was going on. He knew Malfoy was just trying to goad him into doing something wrong to get him in trouble. He reckoned Malfoy would probably run off and tell Professor Snape or Filch (who was the school's rather sadistic caretaker) to meet Harry at the trophy room at midnight instead.

"Why at midnight, in a trophy room, where no one can see us?" he said after the pause. "Why not after classes tomorrow, by the Quidditch pitch? Afraid you'll lose in front of everyone?"

"I'm not afraid of you, Potter," Malfoy spat. "Just thought you'd have a bit more of a sense of adventure."

"I'll take you on, Malfoy," said Ron suddenly. "Anytime, anywhere!"

"What? ... You?" Draco Malfoy looked Ron up and down as if he was appraising something really smelly. "You sure your parents can afford your funeral?"

"I won't be the one needing one," Ron muttered.

"We'll see about that, Weasel-boy. Who's your second?"

"I am," piped up Neville, surprising everyone at the table. He gulped nervously, and looked like he wanted to take it back the moment he had said it, but he remained resolutely stoic under the gaze of the others.

"Excellent!" Malfoy looked pleased with himself, and he shot Harry a nasty smirk. "Going to let the peasant and the squib take the fall, are you, Potter? Thought you had a bit more honour than that."

Then Malfoy stalked off with his hulking minions trailing behind him. Hermione opened her mouth to admonish Ron, but Harry touched her arm and shook his head. She frowned and closed her mouth again.

Hermione waited until after dinner and the others had all headed off to do their own thing before talking to Harry about what had just happened.

"Harry, why did you stop me? Ron and Neville will get into so much trouble and lose Gryffindor _loads_ of points if they get caught out after curfew."

"Points for Gryffindor aren't _that_ important, Hermione—I don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup any more than you do, but doing well in classes is more important, isn't it? ... If Ron and Neville want to risk getting caught and losing points, that's really up to them."

The furrow between Hermione's eyebrows deepened.

"But they might get expelled—the rules—"

"Well, yeah—but still, it's really only their business if they want to risk breaking them—and I doubt they'd _really_ get expelled—Malfoy didn't, even though Madam Hooch said we would if we flew without her permission. And I get it—why Ron wants to fight Draco. Malfoy's a horrible bully, and someone has to stand up to him. I might've taken Draco up on it myself if I hadn't worked out that it's more fun winding him up and letting him get himself in trouble."

Hermione's frown faded, and she couldn't help letting out a little laugh.

"I suppose you're right, Harry. … But still, what if someone gets hurt? That's the _most_ important thing, really—Ron and Neville really _aren't_ very good at spells, and Malfoy's the sort who might know some very nasty curses."

This time it was Harry who was frowning.

"That's a fair point," he sighed, absentmindedly rubbing his scar. "I suppose—if you want to try talking Neville out of it… There's no way you'd be able to talk Ron out of it, though, and he'd just be rude to you if you tried."

"That's true. I'd rather _not_ get in a fight with Ron if I can avoid it." Then she beamed at Harry, apparently pleased that he had met her halfway. "At least Neville might listen to me though."

Harry grinned at her, thinking that it might be harder to dissuade Neville than she thought. They spent the rest of the afternoon outside, and Hermione didn't even insist on bringing their homework, saying they could do it in the evening in the common room for an hour or two before they had to go to bed, and then do some more studying in their dorms before going to sleep. She was beginning to get used to the idea that they didn't have to spend _every_ waking moment doing schoolwork…

**~o0o~**

Harry managed to sidetrack Ron by asking if he'd mind showing him how to play Wizard Chess. Ron was so thrilled that the famous Harry Potter wanted to play chess with him, that he forgot all about being anxious around him, and he didn't notice that Hermione had waylaid Neville on the other side of the common room.

"Neville, you really _mustn't_ ," she pleaded. "Think of all the trouble you'll get into if you and Ron get caught."

"I know, Hermione," Neville moaned, looking torn. "But I promised, and Ron's my best friend. He stuck up for me on the train when Malfoy was having a go at me. I have to back him up—he'd do the same for me."

Hermione bit her lip, feeling disconcerted. She didn't like Ron at all, but she had to admit that he wasn't all _that_ bad, even though he didn't like her at all either.

"Well, just think about it," she said after a moment had passed. "Maybe you can talk Ron out of it. I'm almost certain that Malfoy's just trying to trick you both to get you in trouble."

"Maybe," said Neville, looking doubtful. "I don't think Ron would back down though. He really hates Malfoy—I guess I do too."

Hermione sighed. Of course Neville hated Malfoy. Draco Malfoy was the most detestable boy she had ever met, and that was saying a lot, as most other children had always teased her for being a swot. Not to mention Ron, who drove her mad with his thickheadedness and rudeness. If she didn't have Harry as a friend, Hermione wasn't sure how she would have coped here at Hogwarts. Though it did seem like Parvati and Lavender were definitely warming up to her more than the other girls in their dormitory.

Her eyes followed Neville to the table at which Harry was still playing Wizard Chess with Ron—and apparently losing. Hermione trudged over to the sofa near the fire, plonked herself down, and opened up _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1_. She had barely read a paragraph when she felt the cushions give way. She lowered her book and saw Parvati and Lavender sitting down beside her, both looking worried.

"So what did he say?" asked Parvati. "Are they still going to have a duel with Malfoy?"

For a moment Hermione was caught off guard, taken aback by the question. She really hadn't expected anyone else to be concerned about Ron accepting Malfoy's challenge.

"Er… No," she returned, shaking her bushy head. "Neville didn't think he would be able to talk Ron out of it."

"But they'll lose Gryffindor so many points if they get caught," Lavender moaned.

**~o0o~**

Harry grimaced when one of Ron's Knights brutalised his remaining Bishop. He was losing badly; most of his pawns and both of his own Knights were already rubble. He hadn't expected to be much good, as he had never even played Muggle Chess before, but he couldn't help feeling chagrined to be trounced so thoroughly. He was too engrossed in contemplating his next move to notice Neville sitting down at the table, nor the red-headed figures approaching.

"You look a bit too smug, Ron," said a familiar voice, "All things considered."

"Not exactly a fair fight, is it?" said another.

Harry and Ron both looked up from the chessboard to see Fred and George grinning at them. Harry felt relieved at the distraction, but Ron scowled at his brothers.

"What d'you two want?" he griped.

"No need to get your knickers in a twist, Ron," said Fred—at least Harry thought it was Fred. It was hard to tell.

"We just wanted to say that we approve," said George. "Good on you, little brother. You're doing the Weasley name proud."

"We weren't sure you had it in you," Fred added. "Looks like our plans to disown you might have been a bit hasty."

"Er… Really?" said Ron, looking confused at the backhanded compliment.

"Yeah!" George clapped a hand on Ron's back. "We didn't expect you to be taking on Slytherins so soon..."

"...or ever," said Fred nonchalantly. "I bet George that you'd back out of the duel. But I don't mind losing if you give a good showing."

Harry frowned, wondering if he should say something. It was one thing for Ron to follow through of his own accord, and another thing altogether to be egged on by his brothers to flout curfew. If there had been even the slightest chance that Ron would think better of taking up Malfoy's challenge, it was gone completely now.

Ron looked a bit dazed, and unsure whether to be cheered by his brothers' stamp of approval, or annoyed that Fred had bet against him. Cheer won out, and Ron shrugged.

"Yeah—well, should be a piece of cake," he said with what was almost certainly a false air of unconcern. "It's just Malfoy. How tough can he be?"

"That's the spirit," said George. "Spoken like a true Weasley."

**~o0o~**

Harry left Ron with Neville, who suggested a game of Exploding Snap instead when Ron asked him if he wanted to play a game of chess. Harry sat down next to Hermione, taking the part of the sofa that had just been vacated by Lavender and Parvati.

"So, no luck with Neville?" asked Harry, already fairly sure of the answer.

"Yes," said Hermione, before realising that she wasn't being very clear. "I mean, you're right—I didn't have any luck."

"Well, I guess that's it then," said Harry. "At least you tried."

**~o0o~**

Harry woke up the next morning to see Neville and Ron both looking tired and as miserable as could be.

"Er," said Harry, as he began to change into his uniform and robes. "So how'd it go last night?"

"Bloody Filch!" Ron spat angrily. "Malfoy never showed up, and Filch was waiting for us! Now we've both lost twenty five points each and got detention."

"Malfoy probably tipped him off," said Harry.

"I suppose," Ron muttered, and Neville averted his eyes. "We did a bunk when we heard Filch sniffing around, looking for us. At first I thought we'd lost him—"

"We ended up on the third floor," Neville interjected. "You know, the one Dumbledore told us to avoid at the beginning of the term."

"We might have made it back without getting caught," said Ron, "But there must've been a big dog behind one of the doors, because it started barking when I tried the handle—"

"Wait, what?" Harry's features scrunched in bewilderment. "A dog? … That's all? I thought there was probably some horrible monster on the third floor, the way Dumbledore went on about dying a very painful death."

Ron shrugged. "I guess Dumbledore was just joking after all. Anyway, after it started barking, Peeves showed up and started making a racket too, so Filch nicked us before we could hide."

**~o0o~**

"A dog? That's all? Really?"

"That's what Ron said," Harry said to Hermione as they went down to breakfast. "I dunno though. It doesn't make a lot of sense—Percy said Dumbledore was serious about dying horribly on the third floor when I asked him about it during the Feast."

"I _suppose_ a big dog might be vicious enough to kill someone," said Hermione. "But why? What's the point of keeping a big bloodthirsty dog locked up in a room in the castle when Hagrid could be looking after it and keeping it in the forest away from the students?"

Harry and Hermione suddenly halted on the marble staircase and stared at each other, their eyes widening.

"Harry! Maybe it's—"

"—guarding something. Yeah!"

"But what?" Hermione mused, the familiar crinkle between her eyebrows forming, which was always a sign that she was thinking really hard. "What could be so important that it has to be kept in the castle with a vicious dog to guard it?"

Harry gave her an "I told you so" sort of look, and she turned pink.

"Maybe—maybe you were right, Harry," she said a bit sheepishly. "Maybe the thief who broke into Gringotts _was_ looking for whatever Hagrid took from that vault—"

"—and now Dumbledore has it locked up here with a dog to guard it." Harry grinned, and Hermione gave him a halfhearted glare.

"I _suppose_ you're thinking of having a look for yourself, then."

"Er… Maybe?" he said hopefully. "Aren't you curious too?"

"Well, yes! … But I'd rather _not_ get killed by a ferocious dog, or worse—"

"—expelled?" Harry finished for her, grinning again.

"Hmph!" Hermione sniffed, her nose in the air, but she couldn't help the little smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

**~o0o~**

Malfoy smirked when he spotted Ron and Neville at breakfast.

"I heard you had a bit of fun last night, Weasel-boy," he drawled. "Hope it was worth all the trouble."

"Shove off, Malfoy!" Ron snarled at him, savagely gnawing a piece of bacon, and Neville kept his eyes glued to his plate of scrambled eggs and sausage.

Malfoy's smirk turned into a grin, and Crabbe and Goyle sniggered sycophantically. Harry reckoned they looked a bit too happy for his liking, and decided to wipe the smile off Malfoy's face.

"Well, _**I**_ heard you chickened out last night," he said coolly. "You seem to run away an awful lot for someone who talks such a big game, Malfoy. … Guess that's why you ended up in Slytherin—you're too much of a mummy's boy to be a Gryffindor."

Fred and George guffawed, and there were a few chuckles around the table. Ron and Neville looked slightly less bitter about losing fifty points between them and getting detention, and Harry felt a surge of satisfaction when Malfoy flushed and scowled.

"Shut it, Potter!" he snapped. "I'll have you know that the only families worth knowing are all in Slytherin! Even Merlin was a Slytherin."

"Excuse me," Hermione interjected haughtily, "but wasn't Merlin the only Slytherin who ever stuck up for Muggleborn wizards?"

"She's got a point," said Harry coolly, thinking that he really ought to have remembered that himself, and vowed to try harder to stay awake in History of Magic. "Are you sure you really want to admit that he was in your House, Malfoy?"

Draco Malfoy looked at a loss for words. He opened his mouth, then shut it again when he couldn't come up with a clever retort.

"There's always a nutter in every crowd, I guess," he muttered feebly, after vainly casting around his frontal lobes for a better response. Then he spun around and stalked off angrily, his thuggish henchmen following in his wake.

**~o0o~**

After classes, during dinner, Harry happened to glance up at the staff-table, wondering if it was worth trying to wheedle any information out of Hagrid regarding the dog on the third floor, and whatever it was the dog was guarding. Hagrid seemed to be deep in conversation with the professor who looked a bit like a pirate with his peg-leg, an eye-patch, and a hook in place of one of his hands. Harry had noticed him before, but didn't know who he was, or what he taught, as they had never been introduced.

"Hermione, d'you know anything about that teacher?"

Hermione put down her fork and took a look to see who Harry was talking about.

"Oh! I think that's Professor Kettleburn—he teaches a class called Care of Magical Creatures. It's an elective offered to third year students."

"That explains why he and Hagrid are so chummy, then," Harry mused. "Hmm… I wonder..."

"You're _not_ still thinking about that dog, are you?" said Hermione, rolling her eyes.

"Well...erm… Yeah," said Harry. "I dunno why really, but I feel like it's important somehow. I mean, I know what it's guarding must be important, it's just… Ow!" He clapped a hand to his forehead and rubbed at his scar.

Hermione looked at him worriedly, then up at the staff-table, where Snape appeared to be chatting with Professor Quirrell, as he often did. She frowned pensively, and bit her lip. Then she turned to Harry.

"Are you finished with dinner yet?"

"Er… I guess so," said Harry, who had been thinking about having a piece of treacle tart for pudding. "Why?"

Hermione lowered her voice to nearly a whisper. "I need to talk to you, but I don't think we should talk about it here."

"Okay... Sure." Harry dabbed his lips with a napkin and rose to his feet to follow Hermione.

It was another nice mid-September day—very few clouds in the sky and not too cold—and they still had a couple of hours before sunset. They traipsed across the lawn and down the hill to the lake, and found a nice spot under a copse of elms by the pebbly shore from where they could watch the ducks floating by.

"Okay, so what's up, Hermione?" asked Harry, absentmindedly rubbing his scar again after sitting down beside her on the bed of fallen leaves.

She peered at him as if she was thinking of the best way to spring some delicate information on him, and he started to feel a bit nervous.

"Well," she began slowly, "it's the way your scar keeps bothering you. Didn't you say that it never hurt before you came to Hogwarts?"

"Yeah!" Harry nodded. "But I'm not sure why Snape would make it hurt."

"But is it _just_ Snape? Or does it hurt at other times too?"

"Huh!" said Harry, trying to remember all the times it had hurt the most since coming to Hogwarts. "Come to think about it, my scar is a bit sore and itchy nearly all the time now. And besides hurting more sometimes around Snape, every once in a while it hurts in Defence Against the Dark Arts—"

"—with Professor Quirrell," said Hermione. "I'm really not sure what either of them would have to do with it," she muttered."I _suppose_ the timing could just be coincidental. The main thing I was thinking about was how you got your scar..."

"Oh!" gasped Harry, the blood draining from his face, and a shiver ran down his spine which had nothing to do with the slight breeze rustling through the leaves above them. " _Voldemort_ —of course! I'm so stupid," he groaned. "That makes a load more sense than Snape or Quirrell making it hurt."

"Does it, though?"asked Hermione. "The problem is that Voldemort is dead—that's what I'm having trouble working out."

"Not according to Hagrid," said Harry. "He reckoned that Voldemort didn't really have enough human left in him to die. But he also made it sound like Voldemort lost his powers and ran away to hide—but, really, that doesn't make a lot of sense either."

"No, it doesn't," Hermione agreed. "That's not how it works—wizards don't just lose their powers—it's part of our genetic make-up. All the history books say that he blew up when he tried to kill you. He _must_ be dead, but..."

"But what if he's not? … What if he's sort of like a ghost?" said Harry. "He could be hanging around here, somehow, waiting for another chance to do me in."

"That's _it_ ," said Hermione, her eyes lighting up. "He could be trying to find a way to come back to life—"

"—and maybe he had something to do with the burglary at Gringotts." Harry felt a surge of both excitement and dread. "Maybe whatever that dog is guarding is something that could help him come back."

"Harry," Hermione squeaked, now looking more than a bit alarmed, "you were right! We _have_ to find out what that dog is guarding. If it's something that could give Voldemort another chance to come back and kill you, then we've _got_ to get rid of it somehow. … I just don't know why on earth Dumbledore would keep it here in the castle if that's true."

"Well, Hagrid told me that Hogwarts is the safest place to keep something besides Gringotts—Dumbledore must have been worried that someone might break into Gringotts to steal it..." Harry trailed off and scratched his head, another thought occurring to him. "But if Dumbledore has a good idea that Voldemort is hanging out _here_ somewhere in ghost form, he must be expecting him to try and get someone to steal whatever it is for him—so that could mean that—"

"—that Dumbledore might be trying to draw whoever is working for Voldemort out," said Hermione, picking up where Harry was going with this line of reasoning.

"Yeah!" Harry nodded. "It could be one of the teachers. If Dumbledore doesn't know who he can trust, he'd want to catch whoever it is in the act. … I bet it's Snape—he hates me enough to be someone who'd work for Voldemort."

Hermione looked slightly dubious. "Yes, that's true, but what about Quirrell?"

"I dunno, Hermione. He seems a bit too much of a scaredy-cat to be someone who would work for Voldemort."

"That's true too," Hermione sighed. "Snape definitely seems more like the sort who would work for him. … Either way, we've got to find out what that dog is guarding, and keep an eye on Snape—and maybe Quirrell too, just in case..."


	5. Hermione's First Broken Rule

**Hermione's First Broken Rule**

It had taken Hermione nearly two weeks before she felt confident enough with her calligraphy to write a proper letter to her parents (and she couldn't help feeling envious that Harry had taken to calligraphy like a fish to water after only a few days). She had sent a quick note with a school owl the day after she had arrived at Hogwarts, of course, to let them know that she had arrived safely. She had been quite aggravated with herself at the time for not thinking of bringing some ballpoint pens.

But now she sat at one of the tables in the common room, gnawing on the end of her quill and contemplating how to start the letter. As it was Saturday morning, there was no time constraint, so she could take as long as she wanted. Harry was sitting on the other side of the table, reading one of the storybooks that Hermione had brought with her. Finally, she decided that she might as well begin at the beginning…

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Hogwarts is amazing! You should see the castle—it's like something straight out of a fairy-tale, and the countryside is beautiful, with mountains, an old forest, and a lake._

_Learning all about magic is exciting, but best of all, I met a really nice boy on the train and made friends with him. His name is Harry Potter, and you've already met him. He's the boy who asked you how to get onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters. He grew up with non-magical guardians and he didn't know he was a wizard either until he got his letter, so he's **almost** like me. His parents were actually wizards, but he didn't know because his aunt and uncle aren't wizards. They are apparently quite horrible, and never told him that he was a wizard._

_Another way he's a bit like me is that he never had any proper friends. Actually, it's **worse** than that, because he never had **any** friends at all (his mean aunt and uncle wouldn't let anyone come around to play with him). At least I had a few people who liked me enough to talk to me now and then at school, and not tease me **too** much about being a swot. Harry didn't even have any casual school friends because his cousin is horrible too, and bullied other children. Nobody wanted to risk being Harry's friend because they were afraid of his cousin._

_I was ever so surprised that he actually asked me to sit with him and wanted to get to know me—but I'm really happy that he did. I rather went on a bit at first about how I had read all of my schoolbooks and learnt them all by heart. I could have kicked myself for blurting it out like that. I really have to try harder not to do that, so I don't put people off me. Children here are just like in the non-magical world, and aren't very fond of swots._

_Harry wasn't put off me at all though, even though he's not nearly as much of a swot as me. I have to admit, at first I thought he might be, because of the glasses, even though I know that it's stupid to judge people by looks. But he hasn't once teased me for studying so much, and he does seem a fair bit more interested in studying than most of the others. In fact, he's the **only** other student in my year, in Gryffindor, who actually read all of their books before the school-term started (I couldn't help asking the other First Years if they had). He didn't remember a lot of it until I jogged his memory a bit, but still, he had only read them through once, and I read mine loads of times._

_And even though I can speed-read, and I'm much quicker on the theory than him, Harry is really quite smart. He is one of the only two Gryffindors in my year who are consistently above average and put more effort in than the rest—the other one being Parvati, which is very surprising, as she and her best friend, Lavender, are a bit giggly and obsessed with fashion (but she and Lavender seem quite nice otherwise)._

_Though Harry doesn't mind studying, he does seem happier when we make time for doing other things too. Mum, you would be proud of me—you've always said I should try to relax a bit, and I have been, thanks to Harry. He's also quite funny at times—which I didn't really expect at first, as he seems quite serious a lot of the time._

_I've been reading some of the storybooks you bought for me to bring to school, and I'm sharing them with him. He seems to like the science fiction and fantasy ones best._

_Harry is quite famous in the Wizard World actually, not that it's important, of course. I had no idea who he was until after we had already chatted a bit on the train..._

Hermione paused and chewed the end of her quill again, frowning, and wondered if she should tell her parents why Harry was famous. Then she sighed and kept on writing, reckoning that she had never lied to them before, and it didn't seem right to start now.

_Harry is famous because he survived when his parents were murdered by a horrible wizard who was trying to take over the wizard world. The Dark wizard tried to kill Harry too, but the wizard was killed instead, and apparently Harry is the one who stopped him (nobody is sure how, not even Harry, though some of the history books think it was accidental magic) so he's seen as a bit of a hero by most people in the wizard world._

_It's not a very nice thing to be famous for, actually, and Harry doesn't really like being famous. That's why it was particularly dreadful that Professor Snape made fun of Harry for being a "celebrity" in our first Potions lesson._

_I never thought that I would ever meet a teacher that I didn't like, but Professor Snape is the nastiest, most vile teacher that I've ever met. I'm really not making this up. He's absolutely **awful** —he's mean to students, and he's not even a good teacher. If I hadn't studied the Potions books loads before school, I would have no idea what I was doing, because all he does is put the Potions recipes on the blackboard, and he just expects students to know how to do it properly._

_Thankfully for Harry, he and I studied the Potions books a bit together for a few days before our first lesson, so he was able to remember what he'd read and he answered Professor Snape's questions perfectly. Professor Snape was SO horrid, that he made fun of Harry for answering the questions correctly. Have you ever heard of such a thing? I couldn't believe it!_

_At least all of the other teachers are nice, even if they are a bit strict. I don't know why Professor Dumbledore allows such a mean one to teach here… ___

Hermione went on to describe some of the other teachers and classes in great detail, and Harry's name came up multiple times.

_...and you should see him wave a wand. Harry takes longer than me to get the theory, but he really is amazing, once he gets the hang of a spell. I can do the wand movements quite well, better than most, actually, but Harry is a natural. He gets them faster than me, and his precision is remarkable. I'll be lucky if I'm ever as good as him. And he's better than me all the way around in Defence Against the Dark Arts. He's going to be a great wizard one day, I'm sure of it._

_Anyway, I have met a lot of other students, of course, but Harry is the nicest by far. Well, Parvati and Lavender, the two girls I mentioned earlier, are friendly. Neville, who is also in our year is quite nice too, but he's not very good at magic. And then there is Ron—he's not very good at magic either—but he doesn't like me very much, and can be quite rude to me sometimes. But I **suppose** he must be a decent sort—he's Neville's best friend, and I can't imagine that Neville would be friends with anyone who was truly nasty._

_I think that's everything for now. If you're planning on sending me anything for my birthday, you can send it back with the school owl bringing you this letter. Magical owls can carry quite heavy things and are much smarter than non-magic owls…_

__"You didn't tell me your birthday was coming up."_ _

__Hermione gasped, and heat rushed to her cheeks. Thoroughly embarrassed, she turned and saw Harry standing behind her._ _

__"Erm… You're not supposed to be looking at my letter," she squeaked, quickly covering it with another piece of parchment and hoping that he hadn't seen all of the things she had written about him._ _

__"Oh, sorry," said Harry. "I didn't mean to. But why didn't you tell me when your birthday was?"_ _

__Hermione was a bit bewildered, but then she remembered that Harry had never really had much opportunity to get to know other children and learn proper birthday etiquette._ _

__"Erm… Well," she said, "generally speaking, it's considered a bit gauche to tell people when your birthday is, unless they ask you, because it might seem like you're just trying to get them to give you a present."_ _

__Harry had looked puzzled when she had said the word "gauche," but he seemed to have caught the meaning by the end of her sentence._ _

__"Oh!" said Harry; then he grinned at her. "Erm… Well, I'm asking, so you can tell me."_ _

__Hermione wasn't really sure why, but at times Harry made her feel a bit shy, and that was a feeling which she wasn't used to. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire now._ _

__"It's… er, on September 19th," she said, giving him a bashful little smile._ _

__"That's just a few days from now." Harry, looked thoughtful, and then disappointed. "I wish I'd known you before going to Diagon Alley, then I could have got you a present."_ _

__"That's okay, Harry. I really didn't expect anything from anyone except my parents and my aunt."_ _

__"Well, I'll try to make up for it at Christmas, if I can. I guess I can order something from a shop in Diagon Alley, and send Hedwig to pick it up."_ _

__"You really don't have to do that," she said, feeling even more abashed._ _

__Harry raised his eyebrows, and gave her a 'don't-be-silly' sort of look, then he said, "I'm fairly certain that's the sort of thing that friends are supposed to do, isn't it?"_ _

__"I—I suppose so," she agreed, trying to think what she should get Harry for Christmas._ _

__A light seemed to spark in Harry's almost impossibly green eyes, and he said, "Hey, you can send Hedwig to your parents instead of a school owl. I can share her with you, if you'd like."_ _

__Hermione was stunned. She didn't know what to say. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever offered her. Harry stood there, peering at her hopefully._ _

__"Y-yes—all right," she said. "I would like that. Hedwig really is quite beautiful, you know."_ _

__"Great! That's settled then," said Harry, beaming at her. "We can go to the owlery as soon as you're finished with your letter. Just let me know when you're ready."_ _

__Hermione finished her letter quickly, as she didn't have much more to add, then she followed Harry to the owlery at the top of one of Hogwarts' many towers. She still found it amazing to see so many owls in one place, particularly as she had never seen even one owl up close. She took care to avoid stepping in the droppings littering the stone floor, and rather unnecessarily looked around for Hedwig, as Harry simply called out her name._ _

__The snowy owl lit upon a perch next to Harry and he stroked her feathers._ _

__"Hi, Hedwig," he said, "I've actually got a real letter for you..."_ _

__Hermione bit her lip and a little crinkle formed between her eyebrows, hearing a hint of excitement in his voice. It was obvious to her that Harry had not expected that he would ever have someone to send a letter to—even though the letter wasn't his own—and she couldn't help her eyes feeling a bit watery._ _

__"It's for Hermione's parents..." he trailed off and glanced at her. "Er…"_ _

__"London," she said, "We live next to Hampstead Heath—"_ _

__Hedwig gave her a little hoot, as if to say that it was quite unnecessary to give her the address, and held out one of her talons. Hermione tied her letter around Hedwig's ankle._ _

__"Anyway," Harry said to Hedwig, "I'm going to let Hermione share you. You don't mind, do you?"_ _

__The snowy owl shook her head and gave Hermione's finger an affectionate nibble. Hermione still couldn't get over how smart magical owls were, living up to their mythical reputation for wisdom._ _

__"Thank you, Hedwig." Hermione beamed at her and gave her feathers a tentative stroke, then glanced at Harry, still beaming. "Thank you for sharing her with me, Harry."_ _

__Hedwig flapped her wings, and then she was gone._ _

__The next few days passed quickly, and were marred only by another Potions lesson with Professor Snape. He swooped around the classroom like a bat, and spent an inordinate amount of time hovering behind Harry and Hermione with a scowl on his face, as if he was looking for any little excuse to dock some more points from Harry. Hermione grew more and more annoyed by the distraction, and Harry wasn't faring much better, judging by the look on his face. Unfortunately, just over halfway through the lesson, Professor Snape found a reason to berate Harry._ _

__It wasn't a very good reason. In fact, there was no reason at all for Professor Snape to go after Harry, and Hermione found herself growing more and more distressed at the unfairness of it all. As he had the first lesson, Snape used the failings of another student as an excuse to harass Harry instead. This time it was Ron, whose deep maroon tar-like potion had drawn Snape's ire. The Wiggenweld potions were supposed to be a light turquoise colour and the consistency of melted butter at this stage, but it wasn't the state of Ron's potion itself which had triggered Snape's tirade—it was the billowing maroon clouds of smoke filling the classroom and making everyone cough violently._ _

__Neville—whose own potion was orange and foaming—passed out and collapsed on the floor after nearly hacking up a lung._ _

__"You imbecile!" Snape snarled at Ron, and with a flourish his wand-tip began to suck up the smoke like a vacuum. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and another ten points from you, Potter, for not monitoring Weasley's progress. That's twice now you've allowed your Housemates to ruin their potions and disrupt the class—one more time and it's a detention for you."_ _

__Harry glowered at Snape as the vindictive Professor brought Neville back to his senses with another wave of his wand and stormed back to his desk in a swirl of black robes. Hermione could see Harry struggling to not respond to Snape's provocations. "Git!" she heard Harry mutter under his breath._ _

__Once back at his desk, Hermione saw a horrid but satisfied smirk on Professor Snape's face. After the end of class as they trudged through the corridor towards the stairs leading up from the dungeons Ron caught up to them with a gloomy looking Neville trailing behind._ _

__"Sorry, Harry," Ron mumbled._ _

__"It wasn't your fault," said Harry. "Snape's just evil. I don't know why, but he's really got it in for me."_ _

__"Yeah! I suppose so," Ron sighed. "Still, if I wasn't complete rubbish at Potions he wouldn't've had a reason to have a go at you."_ _

__"He probably would've just made up a reason, anyway," chimed in Neville._ _

__"Neville's right, Ron," said Harry. "Don't worry about it."_ _

__"Yeah—okay. Thanks, Harry."_ _

__The rest of the day passed without further incident, and by the end of classes Harry and Hermione were feeling a lot better and headed up to Gryffindor tower to drop off their books and change their clothes. To Hermione's great surprise, when she entered the girls' dormitory she was waylaid by Parvati and Lavender._ _

__"Happy Birthday, Hermione," said Parvati, grinning at her and handing her a red and gold envelope._ _

__"Happy Birthday," said Lavender, beaming and handing her another envelope._ _

__"Wh-what?" Hermione stammered in shock. "How did you know?" she squeaked._ _

__"Harry," said Parvati, still grinning. "He told us it was your birthday in Transfiguration—"_ _

__"You were buried in your book," Lavender interjected with a giggle._ _

__"Anyway, it's not much," Parvati added with a shrug. "Just cards..."_ _

__"Well, er… Thank you very much," said Hermione, still reeling. "Cards are plenty—really!" She smiled at them both, her cheeks reddening._ _

__Apparently Harry had told Hagrid about her birthday too—after classes, Harry led her, and Lavender and Parvati, to Hagrid's hut for tea. The chocolate icing on the cake was a bit lumpy, and Happy Birthday Hermione was written in squiggly lines of green icing. All in all, it was one of the nicest birthdays she could remember having. It was the first birthday party of sorts with proper friends who didn't need prodding by their parents to attend._ _

____

**~o0o~**

It was the weekend again, Saturday, and Hermione was more determined than ever to help Harry work out what the ferocious dog behind the door on the third floor was guarding. It was the first time in her life that she had ever considered breaking a school rule, not just because she had made a promise, but because he was her best friend.

"...Okay, yeah," said Harry, nodding, when they were making plans for later that night. "Alohomora should work on the lock, but what about the big dog?"

"I found a charm in one of the second year textbooks," Hermione said eagerly, pulling a schoolbook from her bag. "It's called Immobulus. It should freeze the dog in place long enough for us to find out what it's guarding."

"Brilliant!" said Harry, grinning at her broadly. "You're a genius, Hermione."

She blushed at Harry's high praises.

"All I did is find the book, Harry. We should practice it a bit now."

After practicing for a few hours on insects and a hapless frog while clouds drew across the sky, Hermione deemed that they were both as ready as could be. The frog hopped away as a big fat raindrop plopped on her nose. She shoved the _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ by Miranda Goshawk into her bag, knowing that Madam Pince, the school librarian, would have a fit if the book got wet. The rain quickly turned into a downpour and she and Harry were both drenched by the time they reached the front doors of the castle.

That night, after she was sure that all the other girls in her dorm were fast asleep, Hermione drew her dressing gown around herself, put on her slippers, and tiptoed all the way down to the common room. She found Harry already waiting, looking as nervous as she felt.

"I'll keep a lookout for Filch," he whispered as they clambered out through the portrait hole.

Once they were in the corridor, the Fat Lady's portrait closed behind them. Hermione gulped, her heart thumping wildly, and almost kicked herself for not thinking about this part of the nighttime excursion; the Fat Lady was yawning and staring sleepily at them.

"Oh, don't mind me. You're not the first students to take a stroll after curfew," said the Fat Lady, winking at them conspiratorially. "My lips are sealed."

Hermione then remembered that Ron and Neville hadn't been turned in by the Fat Lady's portrait. Her heart slowed and she heard Harry let out a sigh of relief. Silently they crept through the stone corridors, past burning torches which flickered in the draft, staying to the shadows. Her stomach tied up in knots, she half expected Filch to jump out at them at every corner. Finally they were on the forbidden third floor, staring at the locked door.

Harry's eyes darted around the landing and the staircases.

"All clear," he said quietly.

"Okay, here goes," Hermione murmured, aiming her wand at the lock, "Alohomora."

There was a click, and she held her breath in anticipation as Harry cautiously turned the tarnished brass doorknob. Hermione had her wand ready, as he did also, poised to cast Immobulus if the dog was awake. Harry pushed the door open, and they both winced when the hinges let out a creak. Fortunately, there was no growling or barking, and they entered a dark corridor which was lit only by one sputtering torch. Hermione shut the door behind them so the dog wouldn't escape and terrorise the whole castle.

They both peered into the darkness. On the stone floor ahead was a trapdoor, and behind that there was a snoring, monstrously large shadow.

Hermione and Harry gaped in horror at the size of the beast, and took one step back. Suddenly the snoring stopped, and they heard sniffing instead. The gargantuan shadow rose to its feet, filling the passage up ahead from floor to ceiling. Its three heads snarled, saliva drooling in long strings from its curled lips. The three-headed dog bounded towards them. Hermione stood frozen in shock, forgetting temporarily that she was a witch.

Harry aimed his wand, and shouted, "Immobulus," but the monster dog kept coming. He grasped the handle of the door and swung it open, grabbing Hermione's arm and pulling her out onto the landing; he quickly slammed the door behind them. For a moment they stood there, panting and quaking from fright, listening to the dog barking and scratching at the door.

Hermione snapped out of her shock, glanced around, and seized Harry's hand.

"Come _on,_ Harry! We've got to go before we get caught."

"Yeah!" he said, still shaking and gasping for air. "You don't have to tell _me_ twice."

Hand in hand, Hermione and Harry ran for the top of the stairs and halted. Filch's voice could be heard from one of the staircases below.

"Nasty little brats—think they can go sneaking around the third floor, do they? They'll soon wish they hadn't."

There was a meow in response from Filch's cat, Mrs Norris.

"Oh no," Hermione moaned. "We can't go down."

"Then we go up," said Harry, pulling her towards another staircase nearby.

They hurtled up the stairs as the bottom of the staircase leading to the fourth floor began moving away from the third floor landing, hearing a string of vulgar expletives coming from Filch. Hermione desperately hoped that he hadn't seen their faces.

"—Blast it!" yelled Filch furiously. "They'll be long gone by the time we get there," he grumbled at Mrs Norris.

When Hermione and Harry reached the fourth floor, they saw that the next staircase going up to the fifth floor hadn't reached its landing yet. They both looked around, panicking.

"Over there," said Hermione, who still had a firm grip on Harry's hand, pointing at a door next to a gleaming suit of armour.

They ran towards the door that Hermione had spotted, and she hoped that there wasn't another monster behind it. Fortunately, it appeared to be an empty classroom, judging from the shadowy shapes of desks in the darkness. Hermione closed the door, aimed her wand at the lock, and said, "Colloportus."

There was a click, and Harry tried turning the doorknob just to be certain that it was well and truly locked. They both eyed the door worriedly, and Hermione clasped Harry's hand in her own again. She knew that Filch would make it up to the fourth floor soon enough, and she hoped that her Locking Charm was strong enough to counter Filch's Unlocking Charm.*

Five minutes later, their ears caught the sound of Filch's feet roaming around outside.

"Where are they, my sweet?" they heard him ask his cat. "Maybe one of the floors above?"

Then Hermione's heart leapt in her throat, throbbing in her ears, and Harry squeezed her hand as tightly as she was clutching his. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard Mrs Norris scratching at the door. The doorknob rattled and she and Harry both held their breaths.

They let out quiet, tentative sighs of relief when the rattling stopped; it was hard to let go of their anxiety completely with Filch still outside.

"Blast it!" they heard from the other side of the door. Filch muttered. "You sure they're in there, my sweet?"

Apparently, Mrs Norris had given him a sign of uncertainty, because then Hermione heard Filch say, "Well, they can't be far if you smell 'em 'round here. Let's check the rest of this floor before going up to the next one..."

Filch's footsteps faded into the distance; Hermione and Harry let go of each other's hand.

"We should probably wait a bit before going back, until we're sure that Filch isn't on the fourth floor," said Hermione.

Harry nodded.

"Yeah! I was thinking the same thing," he said. "Why don't we have a look around a bit?" he added, and lit his wand; Hermione lit hers as well.

They both turned around and gasped when they saw it: a mirror which was almost as tall as the ceiling, within an ornately carved, gilded frame, and standing on two clawed feet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *AN: Hermione and Harry don't know that Filch is a Squib yet. They didn't find out till Chamber of Secrets in canon.


	6. Their Heart's Desire

Several days prior, after reading their daughter’s letter, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Hermione’s parents, had sent the snowy owl back to Hogwarts with a birthday card and a package much larger and heavier than ought to be possible for an owl to carry. The owl, however, was not a normal owl; she was a magical owl, and—according to the letter—her name was Hedwig, the pet of the boy they had met at King’s Cross on the day they had seen Hermione off to Hogwarts. 

Then Jean Granger had boiled a kettle, poured two cups of tea (with no sugar cubes, as they were both dentists), added a splash of milk to hers, and sat down at the spotless kitchen table with her husband, Richard, to read Hermione’s letter again. 

“Well, that made things much easier,” said Jean, taking a sip from her steaming teacup, scrutinising her husband warily as his eyes scanned the piece of parchment in his hand for what appeared to be the third time. 

“I would have felt a bit funny sending that parcel through the post,” she added, carrying on as if she hadn’t noticed anything odd about his behaviour, “I know that Hermione said that wizards monitor the postal service for mail to Hogwarts, but still…”

She trailed off and took another sip of tea, staring at her husband, who seemed to not be taking in a single word she was saying. 

“She seems rather smitten with the boy, wouldn’t you say?” said Richard after a moment passed, his voice suspiciously nonchalant to his wife’s ears, raising his eyebrows as he skimmed through the letter for the fourth time.

Jean took in an audible, sharp breath, raised her own eyebrows, and gave her husband a Look. It was a Look instantly recognisable to husbands and children the world over—a Look of warning that they were treading on thin ice.

“ _Harry_!” she said, “’The _boy’s_ ’ name is Harry! And yes, if I had to bet, I would wager that Hermione has a bit of a crush on him.”

“Hmm…” said Richard, still resolutely peering at the letter, a thoughtful frown crossing his features. “She’s a bit young for a crush on a boy, isn’t she?”

Her irritation already fading, Jean rolled her eyes, shook her head, and let out a little laugh.

“Don’t be silly, Richard. Hermione’s almost twelve—she’s practically a teenager—and in any case, there is no age too young for a crush. I must have been about seven or eight when I had my first crush.”

“I see—should I be jealous?” 

“Oh, be quiet, you—” Jean let out another little laugh, and her husband grinned.

Then Richard’s grin was replaced with another pensive expression.

“It’s just—I’m concerned about the b—Harry’s past—”

“Liar!” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” said Jean, smiling knowingly at her husband. “You’re just afraid that Hermione’s growing up—and she is, of course—but you saw Harry for yourself—he’s a very sweet boy. Hermione is lucky to have met him—he seems good for her. Now that she has found someone she can relax around, she’s finally loosening up enough to make a few more proper friends at Hogwarts. … It’s not _just_ Harry—she seems to be making friends with those two girls, Lavender and Parvati, as well.”

“That’s true,” Richard admitted. “Still, all this stuff about some sort of terrorist trying to take over the wizard world and targeting Harry is a bit concerning—” 

“He’s dead—”

“Yes—according to Hermione—” Richard held up his hand when his wife looked like she was about to interrupt. “—and of course I trust her to tell the truth. But terrorist leaders generally have terrorist followers, and terrorist organisations don’t just vanish when their leaders are killed or imprisoned—that’s concerning in and of itself, and the likelihood that Harry could still be a target is not insignificant.”

“And…?” said Jean, growing frustrated. “Look, Richard, we don’t have all of the facts, and even if we did, the world is what it is—there is no point worrying about a hypothetical situation, especially one which we aren’t certain is even a real issue. Life is risky no matter who your friends are—there could be an IRA bombing in London next week, right next to our offices, for all we know—”

Richard, who was animatedly trying to get a word in edgewise (a sometimes difficult task with his wife and daughter when they had built up a head of steam) managed to blurt out, “It’s not the same—” when Jean finally took a breath. 

“Obviously!” Jean barreled over her husband without missing the beat at the end of her breath, “But the point is that you can’t expect the wizard world to be any different than the non-magical world. … There are always awful people doing awful things—anything horrible could happen to anyone at any given time. No matter where Hermione is—the magical or non-magical world—regardless of whether Harry might ostensibly still be a target of a hypothetical terrorist group after ten years of apparent peace—there is always the risk that something dreadful could happen.” 

Richard looked he was about to argue some more, then he deflated like a punctured balloon.

“Fair point!” he conceded, sighing. “And you’re right—Harry Potter did seem like a pretty good kid when we met him—a bit scruffy perhaps, but well-mannered—looked reasonably intelligent—and if Hermione thinks he is too… well, I guess that’s good enough to convince me that he is.”

Jean smiled at her husband again, but this time her smile bore a hint of sadness.

“What _**I**_ find most concerning is Harry’s home life with his relatives. Hermione’s language is a bit vague in some parts. but it definitely sounds like they could be abusing him.” 

“Yes—it does.” Richard took a sip of tea, and then continued his thought. “If it’s not an exaggeration, the business about Harry’s aunt and uncle not allowing him to have any friends is a whopping red flag.”

“If only there were some way to find out a bit more about Harry’s situation,” said Jean, “There must be _something_ we can do for him.”

“I’m not sure that there is,” Richard sighed. “Especially not while Harry is at boarding school. Unless there is some direct evidence that his aunt and uncle are harming him in some fashion, and without Harry being available for the authorities to interview, there is nothing for the police or Child Services to investigate.”

Jean scowled. She knew with absolute certainty that her husband was correct. At the earliest, they wouldn’t be able to investigate for themselves and meaningfully alert the authorities until next summer—presuming that Harry would likely choose to stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas and Easter holidays. 

And _that_ thought led straight to her next thought with the logic of a mathematical equation...

“That’s true,” she said, “But there _is_ something we could do to make his life a bit more pleasant in the meantime. Why don’t we have him here at Christmas? … It would thrill Hermione, and he wouldn’t have to be with potentially awful relatives, or by himself, all alone—”

“Yes,” Richard interjected, nodding in agreement. “Yes, that’s a splendid idea, Jean!” 

“I thought so too.” Jean smiled wryly. “And if we can make him feel comfortable enough, Harry might even open up a bit and give us a better sense of how he is treated at home.”

**~o0o~**

Harry stepped in front of the tall mirror with the ornate gold frame for a better look, and almost jumped out of his skin at what he saw. He spun around, his heart thumping wildly, his breath quickening, but all he could see was Hermione standing next to him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. 

Harry didn’t answer right away. He had another good look in the mirror, then turned his head again, and still only saw Hermione.

“The people…” he said, a chill coming over him which had nothing to do with the temperature. “There are a whole load of people in the mirror. Don’t you see them?”

Hermione stepped closer to Harry and peered into the mirror; her eyebrows shot up and her breath caught, her cheeks turning pink. She glanced at Harry’s clammy face worriedly. 

“Are… are you sure, Harry?”

“Yeah! Of course I’m sure,” he said, frustrated, and more than a bit alarmed. “You really can’t see them, then?”

“Er… No—I… I only see you and me,” she said, sounding uncertain.

Harry frowned, and wondered if she wasn’t telling him something. 

“Then why can only I see them?” he muttered, wondering if he was going crazy. They couldn’t be ghosts—they looked too solid.

He peered into the mirror more intently; the more he looked, the more familiar the people seemed. A tall man with untidy black hair and glasses, and a woman with dark red hair and bright green eyes which looked exactly like Harry’s own appeared to be standing behind him and Hermione. And behind the man and woman were a number of people with similar features. 

They were all smiling and waving at Harry, and it suddenly hit him. He knew who they were. 

The knot of longing in Harry’s stomach was almost painful; he reached his hand out and touched the smooth glass surface of the mirror.

“Mum?” he murmured, as the Hermione in the mirror drew closer to his mirror-self. “Dad? Is it really you?”

His vision slightly blurred by watery eyes, Harry barely registered the flustered expression on Hermione’s face—the face of the Hermione beside him, that is. The one in the mirror was smiling sadly at him.

That’s when Harry noticed something odd about their own reflections. They were both older—perhaps in their late teens, and Hermione’s reflection had her arms around his waist and her bushy head on his shoulder.

As she wasn’t touching Harry at that particular moment, he suddenly realised that the mirror wasn’t just showing him his long-dead family, lost in the past, it was also apparently showing him something from the future. But what did it mean? Torn between a bittersweet yearning for a family he could never have, and confusion, he stared at the mirror, trying to make sense of things. 

Then Harry lifted his hand away from the glass and touched his cheek, surprised, and his face grew hot with embarrassment at what he saw. The Hermione in the mirror was giving him a lingering kiss on the cheek as his mother and father beamed at them both. 

He turned and peered at the Hermione beside him, who looked positively mortified; her cheeks were almost scarlet.

“Are—are you seeing your parents?” she asked quickly, as if hoping to divert his attention away from herself.

Harry nodded.

“Yeah! And I suppose my other relatives as well. What do _you_ see?” he asked her again, hoping for more from her this time.

“N-nothing!” Hermione averted her eyes, looking more discomposed than ever. “Well, it’s not exactly nothing—just you and me—together, like I told you—but we’re both a bit older, maybe 16 or 17...” she trailed off.

“Huh!” Harry frowned pensively, sensing that Hermione was still holding something back. “What does it mean? Why are we seeing different things?” 

Hermione still wouldn’t look him in the eye, but seemed relieved that he wasn’t pressing her for more information about what she had seen in the mirror. She turned her attention instead to the tall, elaborately carved golden frame. He followed her gaze and at the top of the mirror was an inscription: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

He stared at the inscription, trying to make heads or tails of it. 

“D’you know what language that is, Hermione?” he asked after a moment had passed.

“I—I’m not sure. It doesn’t look like any I’ve seen, but there’s something familiar about it...” 

A pensive crinkle formed between her brows; she bit her lip and he could almost see the gears whirring inside her head. Another minute passed in silence and he began to grow impatient.

“Well?”

“Just a minute, Harry,” she said a bit sharply. “I’m thinking!”

Harry shuffled his feet and fidgeted, feeling completely useless as he stared at the inscription again. He wanted to contribute, but he had no idea where to even start. Then he felt her hand wrapping around his and giving it a comforting squeeze. He looked at her and saw her apologetic expression.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Just give me a bit longer. I’ve just had a thought, but I still have to work it out.”

“Okay.” Harry nodded, feeling a bit better. 

Patiently, he watched Hermione’s lips move, only hearing little hisses of breath as she muttered to herself. Then a light seemed to switch on in her eyes. 

“That’s _it!”_ she said excitedly. “Harry, I’ve done it. I know what it says.”

“You do?” 

“Yes! It’s not a different language at all. It’s just backwards, like it would be in a mirror—except for the letters themselves—and the spaces between the words have been slightly jumbled to make things a bit more difficult.”

“Of course!” said Harry, looking back up at the top of the mirror; he tried to read it backwards—or rather, the right way round. “That makes perfect sense. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I’m sure you would have eventually,” she said earnestly. “Anyway, it says, ‘ _I show not your face but your heart's desire_ ’.”

“Not my face—my heart’s desire. Hmm…” Harry pondered the meaning of the sentence aloud, “So… it’s actually showing us what we _really_ want, then—what we really wish we had most of all.”

“Yes!” said Hermione sympathetically, giving his hand another squeeze. “That’s why you saw your parents and—”

“And you were there too...” Harry touched his cheek again, remembering what Hermione had said she had seen, “...but older—we both were...”

Hermione gulped, and her face reddened again.

“We should probably go back to Gryffindor,” she urged him, changing the subject. “Filch must be gone by now.”

“Yeah, okay!” Harry was bursting with curiosity to know more about what Hermione had seen, but he decided it was better to leave her alone.

**~o0o~**

They made it back to the Gryffindor common room with no further misadventures—Filch was no doubt scouring the upper-floors of the castle for traces of night-time prowlers. Hermione wanted to talk to Harry about the gigantic three-headed dog, but it was late, and besides, she still felt too embarrassed to look directly at him. She gave Harry a quick hug and a little smile, and scurried up the stairs to her dormitory.

Cautiously opening the door, she let out a nearly inaudible sigh of relief to see that everyone was still asleep. She crept past Lavender’s and Parvati’s beds and quietly crawled into her own, drawing her curtains and pulling up her covers. She lay in the darkness, contemplating what she had seen in the mirror. 

It had been a bit surprising at first to see Parvati and Lavender in the mirror, because she still thought they were a bit giggly and fashion-obsessed for her taste, but after working out the inscription, Hermione decided that it only made sense. She had always wanted proper friends, and there was no question that Lavender and Parvati were nice. … If anything, even though they were all gradually warming up to each other, Hermione was still far more surprised that _they_ seemed to like _her._

It had been a lot less surprising to see Harry in the mirror, but she still had a burning ball of guilt in her stomach for not telling him everything she had seen in the mirror; she had been thoroughly unnerved by the whole experience, and she still felt embarrassed and confused about seeing herself kissing him on the cheek. She liked Harry very much, and she had certainly thought about giving him a kiss on the cheek, but had been a bit too scared to do so yet. 

It was just… the kiss on the cheek in the mirror had not been a quick peck, like the ones Mum and Dad gave her; her lips had been lingering against Harry’s cheek much longer than they ought to have. 

Despite not being entirely certain what it all meant, Hermione gradually drifted off to sleep.

**~o0o~**

“It was a Cerberus.”

“A what?”

“A Cerberus,” Hermione primly repeated, plucking a second book from the library bookshelf. 

Harry followed her back to the table as she continued to explain. 

“Well, that’s probably not what the _species_ name is. In Greek mythology, Cerberus was the name of a three-headed dog which belonged to Hades,” she said in her school-teacher tone of voice, placing the second book next to the first on the table. 

“Hades—that’s the Underworld, isn’t it?”

Hermione was suitably impressed, and her prim features gave way to a little smile.

“Technically, Hades is the Greek god who ruled the Underworld, but yes, the mythical Greek Underworld is also often referred to as Hades. Cerberus guarded the entrance of the Underworld, mostly to keep the dead from escaping.”

“So, all that Greek myth stuff is real, then?” asked Harry. “I’ve been wondering about that sort of thing since I found out that I’m a wizard.”

“Not exactly,” said Hermione. “Before I discovered I was a witch, I thought it was all just a lot of made up stories too. And for the most part, they are—gods don’t exist, though some of them might be based on ancient wizards and witches I suppose. But apparently, some of the mythical creatures are real—so I thought we’d have a look in some books to find out more about the three-headed dog.” 

“That might be a bit hard if we don’t know what the actual name of the creature is, then.” Harry frowned thoughtfully, picking up the first book that Hermione had set on the table, a very slender book called _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander. 

“Well, I’m a speed-reader, so I think I’ll be all right,” said Hermione, “but I expect the books will have pictures in them to show readers what the creatures look like.” 

She opened the much fatter and heavier tome, _Curious Creatures of Egypt, the Eastern Mediterranean, the British Isles, and Continental Europe from the Coast to the Caucasus_ by John Dolittle, and was pleased to see that it was indeed illustrated. Twenty minutes and 700 pages later, she was already at Zmeu (a Romanian creature which was a very odd sort of a cross between a Giant and a Dragon) when she heard Harry’s annoyed voice.

“Well, that’s rubbish,” he grumbled, closing his book. “There’s nothing about three-headed dogs in _Fantastic Beasts._ ”

“There isn’t anything about them in this book either,” huffed Hermione, a tight band of aggravation constricting her chest. “Let me have a quick look at yours, and you can have a look at mine—I’m almost finished with it anyway.” 

She set her book down on the table and picked up Fantastic Beasts. She flicked through all 128 pages in two minutes flat and scowled.

“This doesn’t seem very thorough,” she said, perturbed. “It doesn’t cover very many magical creatures—there are hundreds more, maybe thousands—and there isn’t much information about the creatures which are in this book—only a paragraph or two on each.”

Harry looked up from the book that Hermione had been reading—he was only on the second page—and frowned.

“Yeah! There’s a _lot_ more information in this one—at least a couple of pages on each creature, and loads of notes. It’s weird that it doesn’t have three-headed dogs either.”

“There has to be _something_ about them in a book,” snapped Hermione, now thoroughly exasperated. “But the only other books I can see on the shelves are about magical creatures in other parts of the world. I suppose we’ll just have to go through all of them—maybe three-headed dogs aren’t originally from Greece or Egypt.”

“I know you’re a speed-reader, but that’s still going to take too long,” said Harry, and Hermione couldn’t honestly say that she disagreed. “I was just thinking,” he continued, “That maybe we could just—er… you know—sort of just ask Hagrid if he knows about three-headed dogs without telling him we know about the one in the castle.”

Hermione gave Harry what she knew must be a skeptical look—one eyebrow raised, chewing her lower-lip—but found her shrug turning into a nod of agreement.

“I suppose it can’t hurt to try,” she sighed.


End file.
